


Mister Kiss Kiss Bang Bang

by sorion



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Come play, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Rimming, Romance, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-29
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-11-22 21:22:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 31,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/614470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorion/pseuds/sorion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite Bond making a kind of running joke out of Q’s “exploding pen” remark by requesting one at every opportunity… it was Q who mentioned it first. The reason behind it is quite simple. They both like to blow shit up. And then they realise that that's not the only thing they have in common.<br/>COMPLETED</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shall We Dance?

**Author's Note:**

> This is just me being happy about the fact that those two characters apparently like sex enough that they make me want to write it XD (I'm usually bored quickly with it.) So you get a lot of sex. And shit going up in flames. And more sex. And, since I'm the one writing it, there will be character interaction, banter and romance.  
> New parts will be added as I write them. It will be a short story collection of sorts with Q and Bond growing closer over their similarities.

“Left, left, _left, **damn you**_!”

Bond does listen to the voice in his ear and goes left, but not before nearly giving Q a heart attack.  
“Shall we dance?” he says, smirking a bit and sharply pulling the steering wheel around.

“No,” Q replies promptly and firmly. “Keep left.”

Bond complies, which is saying a lot, considering his current speed. “As long as you stick close, we can spin left together.”

Q chuckles. “Steady, 007.”

Tanner who is standing behind Q bites his lip and resolutely focuses on the screen. He’s used to the banter, by now. He’s used to the flirting, the innuendo and the sheer _explosiveness_ of that particular agent and his Quartermaster. 

Bond and Q are like a clockwork; so even M has stopped intervening and telling them to mind at least some superficial professionalism. The duo’s antics hardly even get an eye-roll, these days.  
Both their quick minds tend to go overboard. The banter keeps them rooted – on the job, on the present, on the fact that they’re not alone and have a goal other than proving their competence and stroking their egos.

“Don’t step on my toes,” Q continues, his eyes flickering back and forth over the screen. “We’re about to change direction.”

“Don’t we have limber hips, tonight…”

“Right. Now.”

Q doesn’t have to say it twice; Bond nearly graces the corner of a house, but goes to the right fluidly and without taking any pedestrians with him.

“Time is of essence, 007. But not that much. Can’t have you storm the compound with roaring engines. Slow down.”

Unsurprisingly, Bond floors it for as long as he can, making Q roll his eyes, and then takes a sharp turn, bringing the car to an abrupt halt.

“Twenty minutes to get in, extract the information, set the explosives and get out again,” Q reminds Bond.

“Would have been so much easier with that exploding pen you owe me.”

“I’m working on it. Get going.”

The plan of action is easy enough. They tend to be. The execution of the plans more often than not requires somebody who is capable to think on their feet, change direction, improvise. Decide to not pull the trigger if necessary.

Getting in and extracting the information turns out to not be much of a problem. Setting the explosives where they need to be to do the required damage is… trickier. Q’s fingers and eyes are all over the keyboard and screen once the shooting starts.

“Five more minutes, James.” The use of Bond’s first name is the only outwards sign that the Quartermaster is worried.

“On it. Don’t give up on me. I have every intention of bringing back my equipment.” The words are interspersed with more shots. 

Q recognises the sounds. They’re from his own gun. Well. At least Bond’s the one doing the shooting.

“Explosives set. On my way out,” is the next thing they hear.

 

He manages to get out, of course. Somehow, he always does. That doesn’t mean that both his and Q’s blood isn't pumping with adrenaline.

Bond, without looking back, heads for his car and disappears. Q, on the other hand, looks at the spectacle from the satellite images he gets. _’Beautiful,’_ he thinks.

“Good work, James.”

“You, too, Q.”

Q can hear the self-satisfied grin in the voice and knows without a mirror that he’s returning it.

M pats Q on the shoulder and nods. “Good work, gentlemen.”

 

While everyone else files out after the successful conclusion of the mission, Q stays behind, quietly talking to James as the man returns to his hotel.

When Bond opens the door to his room, there’s a surprise. Well, not really a surprise.

“Good evening, Mister Bond,” says a female voice.

Q’s lip twitches.

“Carla,” Bond replies, confirming the identity of the female to Q. “That is a pleasant surprise.”

“I thought you might be hungry. I ordered food.”

This time, Q does roll his eyes. “Do you want me to log off until you need me again?”

Bond takes his time answering both questions while sounding to Carla as if he is only answering hers.  
“That won’t be necessary.”

Q’s eyebrows shoot up, only half surprised but definitely half amused. “That would certainly give an interesting spin to our working relationship, James.”

“Not hungry?” Carla wants to know.

Once more, Bond answers both questions. “I’m much more interested in keeping _you_ close by.”

Q considers it for a grand total of about two seconds. All the violence (even if it is only via satellite images and sounds) does have some effects on him, and he usually has a solitary wank in his office, after such a mission. This, however, is… probably a terribly bad idea.  
“I think I should take this to my office,” he says instead of declining the… _offer_ … as he should have done.

“You could lock the door…”

Q hears the sound of a door locking in his ear. So, Bond is still talking to both of them.  
“Yes. That’s the point of taking it to my office. I’m not about to stay in the lab for this.”

Bond’s grin is being translated into sound, again, as clearly as if he’d been standing right in front of Q, grinning at him.  
“Well… this could turn out to be interesting.”

Q locks the door behind him and finds something to drink. “Always wanted to know what all the fuss was about.”

Bond’s voice lowered to a seductive growl. “You won’t regret staying with me.”

Carla laughs and then hums, pleased. “I hope you don’t disappoint…”

Q takes a long drag from his water bottle. “That’s what she said.”

The laugh that startles out of Bond is being interrupted by the sound of a kiss.

Q snickers. “Nice save.”

“Why don’t you…” Bond starts, and Q can hear rustling of clothes (probably Bond undressing his guest), “… get comfortable?”

Q moves to his couch and sits down. “I’m on my couch. Do your worst.”

Carla all but purrs at the attention she is getting. “Do please return the favour, Mister Bond.”

Q melts back into his seat and takes another sip. “Yes, James. Show her what you’re hiding under those layers.”

“Doesn’t your imagination answer some of your curiosity?”

Carla, from the sounds of it, kisses Bond’s neck. “It makes one hunger for more.”

Q bites back a giggle with questionable success. There is more kissing, and Q is sure that it’s at least partly his fault by nearly making Bond laugh again. He wonders if he can make Bond laugh at another inopportune moment, later. He smirks. He would have to try…

Q hears more kissing, the rustling of more clothes. Carla’s pleased hums are turning into sighs and soft moans. Q’s impressed. Bond obviously knows how to use his time efficiently.  
He feels warmth spread throughout his stomach. He’s always been susceptible to sensual experiences, and things sound very enjoyable from what he can tell.

“Promising, James,” Q murmurs, puts his bottle down and leans his head back against the backrest, closing his eyes.

As if on cue (and Bond probably has been waiting for Q to say something before upping the ante), Carla gasps a whine that turns into a moan. A sound that shoots straight to Q’s cock.

Q’s eyes fly open. “Hmm. _Very_ promising.” He peeks down and isn’t surprised to find that he’s already half hard. No chance to find relief, after the adrenaline rush of the mission, and now this performance… No. He’s not surprised. “Make sure the young lady gets what she came for.”

Bond hums in agreement. “Would you like to move this to the bed?”

She gasps some more and laughs, throatily. “I think beds are overrated. Don’t you, Mister Bond?”

Q grins. “I like her.”

Bond chuckles. “I can’t but agree,” he says, his voice sounding like his lips are pressed against skin. “I’m particularly fond of offices, myself.”

It makes Q laugh.

“But, really, any wall will do if the… _mood_ …” he does something that makes Carla moan and gasp, again, “… _strikes_.”

Q’s hand wanders to his crotch. “What about offices, then, James?”

Bond breaks the kiss he’s in the middle of and murmurs his answer. “The allure about offices, though…”

Carla whimpers. “Yes..?”

Q undoes his trousers and slips his hand inside.

“An office is both public and private. You can lock the door… or not.”

Carla giggles, breathily.

Q hears something rip. Condom wrapper.

“I could fuck you up against the door without any of the people outside any the wiser.”

When Q hears her moan loudly – James thrusting into her – he wraps his hand around his cock, biting back a moan of his own.

She kisses him, loudly, wetly, her moans coming rhythmically.

“Or perhaps I’d take you bent over a desk, hm?”

“ _Oh_!”

“Would you like that?” Bond’s question is clearly not directed at her…

Q allows a delighted little moan to enter his voice. “She seems to like the door just fine.”

“ _Would_ you like it?”

She whimpers. “Yes…” her voice drowns in a moan.

Bond steals another deep kiss. “I didn’t _hear_ you…”

Her next moan is almost explosive in its intensity, Bond obviously doing something rather nice to her nether regions. “Yes!”

Q decides that such dedication deserves a reward. “I think I might actually like that…” he admits, establishing a steady rhythm with his hand that goes with what he can hear in his earpiece.

Having got his answer, Bond now really puts his heart into the proceedings, and if Q has thought that her moans were working for him, before, that was nothing compared to Bond’s moans joining in.

“Oh, fuck, James.”

Bond chuckles lowly. “Yes… yes, that’s it.”

Her moans and whimpers turn more desperate, and Q can feel his own heart race in his chest.

Bond must be doing something to her that shakes her voice with high-pitched shudders. Q imagines one of Bond’s strong hands disappearing between the legs that are wrapped around his torso, stimulating her inside and out, making sure he doesn’t leave her behind… Q knows that Bond reacts to adrenaline very much like he himself does, so this was never going to last long. (Not the first round, anyway. Q doesn’t doubt that there will be more than one, that night.)

“Are you close?” James asks.

“Yes.”

“ _Yes_!”

Among his own moans and gasps, Q hardly hears anything else, anymore. Bond isn’t saying anything, though, and all that can be heard are moans and heavy breaths and kisses, so it hardly matters.

Despite the audibly growing desperation, Q is startled when he hears her come. He’s never heard a woman come, before. (Porn doesn’t count. From the one time he’s seen het porn, women apparently don’t get to have orgasms in them, anyway.)  
Through her vocal and enthusiastic orgasm he can hear Bond thrust in abandon, desperate to finish.

These sounds are now very much to Q’s liking, all of them pushing as many of his buttons. He stops holding back his moans, squeezes his eyes shut, twists his hand around his dick and uses his thumb to massage the head. He can very nearly _feel_ James with him, in him, touching him… gasping and grunting in his ear in climax. “Fuck, yes, _James_!” 

“Yes. I’m here. _Yes_!”

For a moment, neither notices anything but both their roaring moans, both of them falling.

Then Q slumps in his seat, breathing hard and laughs, delighted.

Bond returns the laugh and kisses the nearest patch of skin he can reach.

“You’d better deliver when you get back here, James.” He pulls a face at the mess he’s made and just wipes his hand on his cardigan. It needs a wash, anyway, what with his come already spilled all over it.

Bond hums.

Q sighs, histrionically. “Oh, fine. Don’t answer that.” He doesn’t feel like trying to make James laugh, anymore. After all, he’s not alone at the other end of the wire, and the woman deserves more. Just a bit more. “Kiss her – properly and right now – if you agree.”

Carla chooses that moment to regain her wits, “Jam… mmmm.”

Q chuckles at the immediate response. “I’m very much looking forward to you coming home, 007.”

Bond laughs into the kiss, and Q can hear another softer kiss following. An intimate one.

Q smiles, sated and relaxed. “And now be a dear and give the lady your… _undivided_ attention for the remainder of the night. It’s almost morning where you’re at, anyway.”

“Hmm.”

Q huffs, amused. “I’ll log off. You know how to contact me if you need me.” He doesn’t expect an answer and he doesn’t get one. “Good night, James.”

“Hm. A very good night.”


	2. Homecoming

It was always going to take a while for Bond to return, and Q is not waiting. He really isn’t. There’s too much work to be done.  
He does, however, avoid his office whenever possible and stays in one of the labs.

When Bond does return to HQ a week later, Q doesn’t even notice, at first. He’s directing a double-oh, his eyes on the screen. He has some of his staff with him, but no M or Tanner for this one.

Bond enters the lab and remains by the door, watching. It’s the first time he sees Q work with another agent.  
He finds it insightful, to say the least. Q is professional, and he’s having fun… but he mostly only teases when he’s showing off. And he cares way too much, but that’s hardly news. Bond sometimes wonders if Q will ever lose that trait, and whether or not that would be a good or a bad thing.

Q takes a sip from his tea. “If you bring me back all of my equipment in one piece, you’ll be officially my favourite.”

Bond grins a bit, amused. Not only teasing to show off, then. There seems to be an odd edge to Q’s voice, though.

004 laughs (also with an edge). “It’s hardly fair to let me know that when the game is already half-way done.” There’s a dark surveillance video feed on one of the screens. The agent is kneeling in front of some sort of mainframe.

“And you’ve already lost my radio.”

There’s silence on the other end, and Q is tapping his fingers (apparently not having anything to type).  
“004?”

“Still here. I almost have it.”

“How’s the arm holding up?”

“Fine.”

Ah. That was the reason for the strained voices. And perhaps even the teasing.

Q zooms in on a particular part of a building’s blueprint he has on the screen, leaving the agent on the security image in the corner. “You have about five minutes before the security guard is back.” He lifts his mug to his lips, only to realise that it’s empty. “Take your time.”

Bond can see that none of Q’s underlings appear to have the time to get their boss some more tea, and Q can’t exactly leave the agent out of his sight.  
Oh, why not? He steps up behind him, picks up the quirky mug that makes him grin every time he sees it (and he’s reasonably sure nobody can see his reaction) and moves to the kettle in the corner.  
He can’t see Q, but he imagines that he’s doing a classic double take when he realises that it’s not a member of his team who’s stepped in to get him tea. Q stops his tapping on the desk for a second, so Bond’s guess is probably right.

“Q?” 004’s voice sounds.

“Here, Walt.”

First name. Q is definitely worried (and caring too much).

They can hear soft metallic clanking in the background.

“I just realised…” 004 continues, “… that Two must be your favourite, then.”

Q’s lip barely twitches at the good-natured quip. He zooms even closer on the security guard who is inching closer on the screen.  
“She does usually bring back my equipment, but I’m still rather cross with her for what she did to my car.”

004 laughs.

“Two minutes, Grenaldi.”

There’s more clanking.

“I’ve got it.”

Q visibly (but not audibly) releases his breath. “I can delay the elevator for a moment longer; you should have no problems getting out.”

Bond waits next to the tea station. The package says the tea needs to steep for five minutes. He can already smell the aroma waft upwards. Well. Each to their own and all that.

By the time 004 is safely out of harm's way, Bond puts Q’s mug next to his elbow, after making sure the man knows it’s there. It wouldn’t do for a startled Quartermaster to elbow hot tea all over the equipment.

Q distractedly nods his thanks. “Medevac should be with you in a minute.”

“Really, now, Q. That’s overkill…”

“Hopefully not,” Q replies, dryly.

The medical team comes around the corner when 004 leaves the building.

“Now,” Q adds cheerfully. “Be a good agent and let the nice doctors patch you up. I’ll be here if you need me. Give me a call.”

004 gets into the car. “Thanks, Q.”

“Of course.” With that, he closes the connection, takes off his glasses and rubs his tired eyes.

Bond still stands next to him. “The arm?”

Q huffs and puts the glasses back on. “Did it sound and look like it was just the arm to you?”

“No.”

Q sighs. “Not to me, either. Stubborn bloody double-ohs.” He drinks his tea and allows himself to relax for the short moment it takes for the data to arrive.  
Then he checks it and makes sure it’s what they need and doesn’t have any trackers or troyans or other unpleasantries added to it.  
“That seems to have been successful.” He sends the data to the workstations, letting the team do the extraction.

After he gets the message that 004 is sedated and being patched up (two bullet wounds; only one of them in the arm), he jauntily turns towards Bond.  
“Well, then, 007. What have you brought back in one piece?”

Bond grins. “Gun,” he says, pulls it out of its holster and lays it on the workbench, “the car is outside.”

Q raises an eyebrow.

“It’s in one piece. Just a few bumps.”

Q isn’t sure what Bond might call _’a few bumps’_ , but he knows about the driving the man does, so he should thank his lucky stars that it is at least still in one piece and rolled into the garage on its own four wheels.

“The radio was taken, I’m afraid.”

“Such a shame. And you were so close to becoming my favourite.” Q nearly startles himself with his tone of voice. It’s not the first time he uses it with Bond, but it’s the first time since their little… adventure. And now, with the man standing right in front of him – feeling his body heat, seeing the smirk and not just hearing it, having those clear eyes burn into his – his brilliant mind is rapidly narrowing down into one track.

“Hm,” Bond hums (decidedly deeper than strictly necessary). Until that moment, he wasn’t certain how Q would react to him in person. Their… whatever the hell it was… was more a fantasy than anything. Q would have done better to ignore it and get on with business as usual. So would he, for that matter.  
He smirks.

Q returns it for a moment before he catches himself. He pokes an admonishing finger into Bond’s sternum. “There is a confidential matter that we need to discuss, Mister Bond.”

Bond lifts an eyebrow.

Q leans closer, lowering his voice. “And I do mean discuss.” He straightens. “Follow me.”

Bond turns to follow and grins. “Yes, sir.”

Q holds his office door open for Bond, waving him inside, then locks behind them.

“Having plans?” Bond asks.

Q leans against the door and breathes out. “Many ideas and even more reasons why those ideas should remain in the realm of fantasy.”

“Then why lock the door…?” It’s remarkably suggestive for a question.

Q holds his head slightly lowered, peeks up, and one corner of his lips quirks. It should look corny and tacky, but because it’s Q, one might almost believe that he’s sincere. And he is. It just so happens that he also knows the effects he can have when he puts his mind to it.  
“They’re very compelling ideas.”

Bond steps closer. “And you’re standing against the door in your office. That’s hardly playing fair, Q.”

Q blinks and then averts his eyes. “Pick-up lines aside, Bond, this is a tremendously stupid idea for a dizzying amount of reasons…” he rushes out, then falters because Bond’s lips are ghosting over his neck in a barely-there touch.  
He’s such an idiot, and he should have known that when he didn’t turn off the radio that day. But Bond hadn’t even been with him. It was just a voice in his ear. So easy to give in to.  
On the other hand, the corporeal Bond is much more convincing.  
“… and I don’t really know why either of us would…”

“I really can’t imagine, either,” Bond says, the pressure of his lips firming just below Q’s jaw.

Q considers melting for a second before he straightens again, firmly, taking a hold of both of Bond’s shoulders. “There is something you should keep in mind.”

“Yes?”

“I’m not going to conveniently disappear. At times, your life is quite literally at the tips of my fingers.” Ah. There was one of those pesky reasons.

Bond reaches up and pulls Q’s glasses off. “Such a shame, hiding those eyes.”

Q huffs, exasperated. “I’m serious, Bond!”

Bond leans to the side to carefully lay the glasses on a shelf. “So am I.” He looks at Q’s eyes, once more, then the grin disappears. “I trust you. There is no way you would ever hesitate for even a split-second, no matter how angry or hurt you are because of an agent.”

Q is flattered. So flattered that it takes a moment for him to process the second part of the statement and the fact that Bond apparently expects for Q to eventually be hurt and angry.

“But, let’s face it, you’re much more likely to be angry because I scratched the car than anything.”

The expression on Q’s face speaks volumes. At least _seven_ of them. “That is indeed likely, yes,” he says, sarcastically (though he is mostly just amused).

“And I have no intention of hurting you. Why on earth would I do that? You’re Q.”

Q is sure that most people would take offence at being reduced to a letter and position. He doesn’t. He _is_ Q. Q is there for his own, does not let them down.  
He refrains from pointing out that people get hurt every day, and whether or not it is intentional hardly ever matters. After all, coming from Bond, it says a lot that he actively thinks about not wanting to hurt Q. Usually, Bond doesn’t stop to think how the things he’s doing might hurt someone until they have already done so. And then it’s too late, and regret is unprofessional.

Bond leans in and whispers a hair’s breadth from Q’s lips. “And you’re ridiculously tempting with that stupid mop of hair, the silly cardigans and that bloody fucking cheeky mouth of yours. I always wondered if Earl Grey would be all I could taste on it.”

Q thinks about saying that he’d better find out, then. “And you’ve never been one to fight temptation,” he says, instead.

Bond leans back enough so that Q’s eyes are brought into focus, again. “No. But I don’t force myself on anyone. Ever.”

Q’s brain adds the unspoken, _’Your move,’_ and he frames Bond’s head with both hands, claiming the kiss he could only hear before.  
The sound is startlingly familiar, and he’d thought that it would prepare him for what it might be like, what _’all the fuss was about,’_ … but adding touch, taste and scent to the mix makes him want to claim and ravish, instead of just offering himself to be explored.

Ordinarily, Bond would have smirked smugly into the kiss at having got his way, but Q is keeping both his lips and tongue frightfully busy.  
He lets Q devour him and dictate the pace. It’s already an incredible rush to have a lover come undone and melt into a kiss, but even that is nothing compared to a lover being so primally _hungry_ for you that taking and giving is no longer an option; it has to be taking and _taking_.

Q tilts his head to the right because the kiss keeps being _not quite **deep** enough_ , making Bond thrust his hips into his. He breaks the kiss and gasps.  
“If you don’t watch it, _I'll_ be the one bending _you_ over that desk.”

Bond smirks and moves his hips again. “I’ve already played that fantasy backwards and forwards in my head,” he lets Q know, conjuring up a whole collection of images of Bond masturbating. He peeks to the side. “I’d much rather take you to pieces on that couch. Splay you open, pluck you apart.” He licks over Q’s lips while his eyes are going darker still. “Or would you rather shatter me?”

Q doesn’t feel like he’s in a state of mind to make decisions like that. Instead, he just babbles the words that pass his tongue first. “Oh, I’ve imagined you fucking me. Believe me, I have, but that doesn’t change the fact that I have yet to feel _this_ …” It’s him moving the hips, this time. It would appear that the words have made the decision for him.

Bond pushes the whole length of Q’s body against the door. “Haven’t felt this, have you? Hm… What have you felt, instead, then, I wonder?”

Oh, shit.

Bond smirks at the widening of Q’s eyes. “Did you finger fuck yourself while imagining _this_?” He thrusts forward and captures one of Q’s hands in his, bringing it up to his lips to nip and bite at the fingers. “Or did you screw something more substantial into that tight little arse of yours?”

What the hell, right? Might as well. “Both, actually.” His voice is so matter-of-factly, he is surprised, himself. “Eventually, the fingers weren’t enough, anymore.”

“You…” Bond growls, “… are going to have to show that to me, one day.” He licks into Q’s mouth, twining their tongues, biting the lips. “How attached are you to the image of the door or the desk? Are you open to the couch?”

Q chuckles, breathily. “You were selling the couch well, earlier.”

Bond grins and bites Q’s chin, then lifts him up by the hips, making him laugh and wrap his legs around Bond’s torso.

Q kisses him all the way to the couch and laughs into the kiss when Bond kneels to put him down onto the seat. “You realise we don’t really have a whole lot of time, right?”

Bond hums into a kiss. “Pity. Would you be up for an extended repeat performance, later?”

Q grins. “Your place or mine?”

“I absolutely do not care in the least.” He remains kneeling between Q’s legs, pushes him back into the cushions, kissing him and unzips the infernal cardigan. The tie goes next, and every button on Q’s shirt is followed by a kiss on the revealed skin.

Q arches his chest into the tantalising touches. “Undressing from top to bottom will take more time…”

Bond gently bites at a nipple. “True. Just making sure that you won’t make a mess of your clothes when I make you come.” He puts his chin on Q’s chest and peeks up at him, grinning.

“I have spare clothing, here, you know…”

“I do hope some of your underlings would be observant enough to notice if you entered your office with me in one set of clothing and left it with another…” He moves to sit on his heels. “Speaking of which.” He makes a short shrift of his tie and jacket, puts them over an arm rest of the couch and leans in for a kiss.

Q moves against him, first holding Bond’s head close before wandering lower with his hands and opening buttons.

Bond kisses over his cheek and nips an ear. “What was that about not having a lot of time?”

Q finishes unbuttoning and untucking the shirt and runs his hands inside over stomach and chest. “What can I say? You’re… ridiculously tempting,” he returns Bond’s earlier words, “in those bloody suits that make me want to get rid of them and see if what’s beneath them keeps the promise.”

Bond grins and dives in for another deep kiss. He doesn’t ask if his body keeps the promise made by his suit. Q’s reaction is clear.

Bond’s grins are infectious, making Q laugh into the kiss again and pull the man closer. He helpfully lifts his hips when Bond starts opening and pulling at his trousers and pants, getting them around his knees in seconds.  
“James…” Q manages to get in edgewise between kisses.

Bond hums and nips at Q’s upper lip. “I like the sound of my name coming from your lips.”

Q’s mind is momentarily derailed, and they kiss for a moment longer before he remembers what he wanted to say. “Uh… it wasn’t just a line, was it?”

Bond somehow gets Q’s trousers, pants and shoes off and throws them to the side, biting and licking along Q’s neck.  
“I never tease without following through,” he murmurs into the neck, smirking tangibly. “Just for clarification, though,” he adds, lifting his head. “What line are we talking about?”

Q stares back for a second, then laughter bursts out of him. 

Bond chuckles and licks over Q’s lips. “This _is_ a charming side to you…” He kisses him. “What line?”

Q hesitates. He shouldn’t, he knows; just… He doesn’t want to appear needy or clingy… or anything else that could have badass double-ohs run for the hills. “The extended repeat performance.”

Bond smirks. “Definitely a line I intend to follow through with.”

Q is more relieved than he would have expected or liked. He can still make himself return the smirk. (It’s really hard not to in the face of Bond’s confidence and blatant interest.)

Bond’s expression softens just enough to assuage Q’s momentarily flaring insecurities. “You’re Q,” he says.

Q’s smirk turns somewhat rueful. “I’m your Quartermaster.”

“You’re my Quartermaster.” His hand purposefully runs up one of Q’s thighs and to his more than interested erection. “I think it’s high time that I tend to _your_ needs for a change.”

Q giggles. “If I didn’t know that you follow through with your cheap lines, I’d… _oh_!”

“Good thing, I do, then.” His hand wraps around Q’s cock and pumps him, once, twice.

Q’s breathing speeds up. “No wonder nobody’s complained about your one-liners, before.”

Bond grins, delighted. “You cheeky little shit,” he growls and then kisses him, their tongues tangling. He moves his hips firmly between Q’s legs, grinds against him and lifts one of Q’s thighs to wrap around his torso. Then his hand moves to grab Q’s arse and pulls at one cheek, his fingers slipping into the crack.

Q moves up against him and groans into the kiss.

Bond smirks against the lips and nips at them. “Not much time, remember?”

“There’s… uhm…” Q is loath to interrupt, “… something in my desk drawer,” but needs must. He also wonders if it’s his altered state of mind that makes Bond’s icy cold eyes bloody _sparkle_ with amused mischief.

“You prepared?” Bond is definitely pleased along with amused.

“It may have escaped your no~…” he gasps at the first knuckle of a finger breaching him, “… ~tice, but that is my job.”

Bond’s free hand reaches for his jacket. “I can prove foresight,” he points out in mock petulance. “Every now and again.” He produces a small bottle and condom from a jacket pocket.

Q snickers. “Single-mindedness, Mister Bond.”

Bond bites Q’s lip in retaliation and puts the items next to them. “I think we have just enough time for a little more play,” he states and starts kissing a trail down Q’s torso, the open shirt still hanging off his lover’s slim frame.  
He gently pushes at Q’s thighs, directing him to open them wider, then he pulls the hips closer to the edge of the seat. “Come forward a bit,” he mouths against the side of Q’s cock before licking lower, over his balls and behind them. He rolls them in one hand and holds a thigh firmly with the other, licking over the puckered hole.

Q breathes a shuddering breath, one of his hands going to Bond’s head automatically. By the time Bond’s tongue breaches him, his cock is lying heavily on his stomach, leaking clear pre-come. Lubed fingers join the tongue one after the other, and Q moans.  
“Is that what you meant by… taking me to pieces?” He groans loudly and his cock twitches when Bond twists his fingers.

Bond’s tongue retreats and a fourth finger takes its place, instead. “Just imagine what I could do with a proper bed and more time.”

Q huffs a laugh, his hips moving into Bond’s fingers. “And imagine what I could do if I had the time to retaliate.”

Bond smirks and moves his second hand to wrap around Q’s cock. “Would you like to put this to good use?”

Q’s heavy breathing more resembles gasps, but he still manages to answer. “Not when you’ve got me prepped and leaking.” He pointedly looks down. “Are you going to show me what you’re hiding in there?”

Bond replaces the fingers around Q’s cock with his mouth, taking him in deep, and uses his hand to open his trousers enough to free his own cock.

Q’s head falls back. “Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.”

Bond sucks along the entire length and lets the glistening erection fall from his lips and slap onto Q’s stomach, again.

“Oh, fuck me sideways.”

“Not this time,” Bond contradicts and moves his cock – that has been properly sheathed in a condom and lube while Q was distracted – into position. “Wouldn’t want you to mess up your couch.”

Q breathes hard, reaches for Bond’s head with both hands and pulls him closer. “Just get in me. Now.”

Bond presses against the loosened hole with the tip of his cock. “ _Push_ y…” he forces out in a strained voice, pushing inside in one, long, steady thrust, hardly meeting any resistance, anymore, at all.  
Once he’s seated inside Q’s arse up to his balls, he gives both of them time to adjust and hovers with his lips over Q’s.

Q tries to get his breathing under control, his thighs trembling against Bond’s sides. When his rapidly rising and falling chest is down to a more normal rhythm, he leans up to kiss Bond’s lips.

And Bond pulls out almost completely before thrusting back in, sharply, making Q’s head fall back with a groan.

Q clasps Bond’s torso tightly with his thighs, moving with him to meet his thrusts that now come steadily. His arms sling around Bond’s neck and shoulders, offering his own neck for biting and sucking.

“ _God_ , you’re fuckable.”

Q gasps a laugh and clenches his arse, squeezing Bond inside him, and Bond grunts and bites his neck, sharply.

“So _fuck_ ing _fuck_ able,” Bond repeats as he starts rutting into the tight hole with growing determination.

“Yeah… yes…” Q’s vision swims and his balls tighten at the hard cock pounding him and brushing past his prostate, filling him so unbe-fucking-lievably perfectly. “Definitely worth the hype,” he babbles, grinning in mad arousal.

Bond leans back, straightening his back, the new angle now putting more pressure on Q’s prostate and drawing choking moans from his throat.  
He takes a hold of both thighs and lifts the legs onto his shoulders, biting the side of a knee at the sight of his cock driving in and out of Q’s clenching, wet hole.  
“Show me,” he growls.

Q’s mind swims along with his vision and it takes more prompting for him to realise that he’s being spoken to.

“Show me how you like it, Q. Show me how you got yourself off while fucking your arse with your fingers.”

Q’s whine sounds like it’s coming from deep within his chest, but he does what Bond is asking and moves a shaky and uncoordinated hand to his cock to wrap his fingers around the slick hardness.

“That’s it. Show me.” Bond speeds up.

“Ah,” Q gasps. “ _Yes_. James!”

Bond’s eyes flick between Q’s hand desperately jerking his cock and his own pistoning in and out of that greedy arse.  
“You’re fucking gorgeous.”

Q’s eyes are squeezed shut, his hand milking himself for all he has. “So good, James. So…” His head jerks back. “ _James_!” He sobs, spilling his come over his stomach, chest and hand. 

Q’s body is shaken with tremors of aftershock, even as Bond keeps pounding into him. The slapping of their skin is nearly drowned out by Bond’s groan as orgasm takes him.

Bond falls forward, holding himself up on his forearms as to not to squash Q. He breathes hard, laughing throatily, delighted and captures Q’s slack lips in a kiss.

Q struggles to open his eyes and returns the laugh with one that is more heavy breathing than laughter against Bond’s lips.

Bond smirks, helps Q to move his legs off his shoulders and kisses him again.  
“Well, that was worth the wait.”

Q’s laugh this time becomes a bit more voiced. “Yes.”

Bond leans back to take in the debauched sight before him. “Look at you.”

“Enjoying the view?”

Bond slips out of Q as he leans down to his torso and – with a smirk up at his lover and a, “Good thing we opened that shirt…” – he broadly licks Q’s stomach and chest.

“Oh, fuck, you’re something else,” Q marvels and pulls Bond up the moment most of the come has been cleaned off, kissing him deeply.

After long minutes of cooling down and riding waves of orgasmic buzz, Bond ends the kiss with another, smaller one.

“I have a week of downtime I’m expected to take…” Bond muses.

“I have a spare key.”


	3. Out in the Field

Bond – dressed to the nines – waits in the lobby of the hotel in Guayaquil where he is expected to attend a pretentious event and tries to a) not look like he’s fidgety waiting for his expected counterpart and b) not play with the ring that feels exceptionally wrong on the fourth finger of his left hand.

Posing as a married couple. He’s done that before. And it’s not something he likes to think about.

He’s also been told that this arrangement is not up for debate and that he is to wait for one of Q’s underlings posing as his wife to _’make an entrance’_ as a part of a scheme to get intel and (hopefully) blow shit up.

Bond isn’t quite convinced there is need for charade. He knows why there is a need for a hacker, but a couple seems…

That is when he freezes.

The person at the top of the stairs – also smartly dressed – is decidedly _not_ the agent he has expected.

He forces down his initial reaction – something along the lines of, _’I will fucking have M’s **hide** for sending a bloody department head into the field!’_ – and puts on the smiling façade of a spouse seeing his new… husband.

Q’s slender (tuxedo-clad and contacts-wearing) form approaches him, smiling.  
“James,” he says, not hesitating for a second when he leans in for a short kiss.

“Darling,” Bond responds, holding him close.

“Change of plans,” Q whispers into the side of Bond’s neck.

“I can bloody well see that, you little tit.” He is still smiling, but his tone clearly states that he is less than happy. “Your name for this?”

Q leans back. “Something easy to remember. Quentin.”

“Shall we, then?” Bond steers Q towards the ballroom with an arm around his waist and away from the people already giving them badly disguised, curious looks. (Well, at least the _’making an entrance’_ part would work.)  
The moment they’re in the ballroom and out of earshot, Bond gets back to business. “Exactly what change in the plan requires an invaluable department head in the field?”

Q smiles, pleasantly for the sake of appearance. “News reached us about one of the targets’ employees. The hacker’s skills might require more improvisation than originally anticipated.”

Bond returns the saccharine smile. “And your agent couldn’t have provided that level of improvisation?”

Q stops and faces Bond. “My agent is very, _very_ good. However, there was a slight risk that I was not inclined to take. M agreed.”

Since they are in plain view of the whole room, Bond thinks that upping the ante on their performance couldn’t hurt (and he doesn’t fucking feel like smiling, anymore), so he leans close to hover over Q’s lips.  
“You’re a _department head_ ,” he bites out and brushes a kiss over Q’s lips. “Not a foot soldier.”

This mischievous little smile on Q’s lips now seems genuine. “And I have been ordered to remind you that you are to return all of her Majesty’s valuable assets in one piece.”  
The brief flash of an unfamiliar expression on Bond’s face gives him pause. “I’ll be fine,” he adds, before he can think about what exactly he has read in Bond’s expression and what it tells him.

Bond’s poker face falters, again, and he tightens his jaw. “I will not let you do the breaking in and hacking alone.”

Q holds his eyes firmly with his own. “Yes, you will,” he states, coolly. “We will stick to the plan, because you trust my judgement.”  
The cold look disappears with a sweet smile. “Now…” Q says and sounds disgustingly cheerful as he pulls at Bond’s bow tie a bit to straighten it and then runs his hands over his jacket. “What kind of a face is that, James?”

Bond relaxes his facial muscles so that his answering smile doesn’t look like a grimace, then he cups Q’s face and kisses his forehead. “If you get yourself killed,” he growls, “I’m never fucking you again.”

“That is incredibly reassuring,” Q replies, immediately, deadpan and slips something into Bond’s hand. “Earpiece. Put it in when you get a chance.”

Bond puts it in his pocked for the time being. “Who’s at the other end?”

“Nobody. It’s just two-way. Thought it might make you more inclined to actually let me do my job.”

Bond feels vaguely insulted that Q has foreseen his reaction so effortlessly, but then decides that drawing attention to it would only make it worse. Instead, he steers both of them towards the bar. (There’s time before the pretentious dinner and the empty waffling of investors to follow.)  
“I’d be delighted to remind you what _is_ in your job description, _Quentin_. And doing a break-in meant for somebody else isn’t on that list.”

When approaching the bar, Q leaned closer to Bond, taking his hand. “That’s her. And her son,” he says, not looking at the two people at the bar he’s talking about.

“I noticed,” Bond confirms before putting on the besotted honeymoon smile to place his order for himself and Q, moving to sit next to the two out of five of tonight’s targets.

Playing couple supposedly has two main reasons (not that Bond is happy with either of them). The first reason is very simple. There is no way Bond could do the required hacking on his own, and even he has to concede to that.  
The second reason has more to do with blending in. The staff is apparently a close-knit group, and only guests who attended the conference are allowed to enter. Which usually isn’t such a big problem… if the objective is to get in, causing some sort of mayhem, and then getting out, again. Unfortunately, the hacking isn’t the only objective. The targets would need to complete a transaction _after_ the system has been tampered with. One of the guests leaving at any time would cause suspicion. One half of a newlywed couple leaving for _’fresh air’_ because he’d had a little too much to drink might not… if they’re lucky. If they’re not lucky, well, then that is what Bond’s there for.

“Be careful with that, darling,” Bond says. “You know you can’t hold your liquor…”

Q grins around his drink and leans against the warm body next to him. “I can get a little tipsy, tonight.”

That’s plan A, anyway. Plan B includes blowing up the hotel room with the computers in it and making sure that – even if they don’t have the data – nobody else will, either. 

Q has half a mind to blow everything to smithereens, either way, when first the son storms off in a huff at their display and then the mother follows with an apology and a sour expression.  
“I don’t feel sorry one bit,” Q declares, sipping his drink.

Bond grins and props his chin up on a hand, looking at Q while surreptitiously slipping in his earpiece.  
“I wouldn’t have married you if you did…” He smirks.

Q smirks back.

“What’s the full name they put in your passport for this one?” Bond asks once the bartender is far enough away.

“I wouldn’t want you to get an even bigger head than you already have.”

“This is a very important thing for me to know…”

Q snickers.

“It’s my alias, right?”

Q rolls his eyes. “Yes, of course we have the same surname. But since it’s an alias, it might as well be _mine_ , you know.”

“Except that that’s not what it says on the marriage license, is it?” Teasing Q is simply too amusing to not do it.

“Dick.”

People in the room eventually start moving towards the dinner tables, so they finish their drinks and do the same.

Bond leans closer to Q as they walk. “That new hacker on their team… wouldn’t recognise you, right?”

“No,” Q answer. “Also, she’s not here. It’s just that we didn’t know until yesterday that they got their hooks into her.”

“That good, is she?”

Q tilts his head. “Not bad. She’s mostly dangerous because she’s specialised.”

“And you?”

“I’m just that good.” Q grins, widely, and they take their designated seats.

 

Then it’s mostly the two of them playing a couple that is terribly in love and Q pretending to get a lot drunker than he actually is.

Before dessert, Q spills his drink on his jacket, swaying slightly in his seat.

Bond moves his glass onto the table. “Perhaps you’ve had enough?”

Q glares at him. “You’re not my mother.”

Bond caringly takes his hand and runs a finger over his cheek with the other. “I’m not patronising you, sweetheart. You know I’m not.” He very much sounds like they’ve had that discussion before, and Q picks up on it, his expression softening.

“Well,” he looks down, perfectly in character (while in reality he’d really rather kick Bond in the rear), and then peeks up. “Maybe I… had just one too many.”

Bond almost laughs at his performance. “Do you need me to take you to our room?”

Q waves him off and moves to stand. “I’m just going to… put on a different jacket and…” He blinks in a fake attempt to clear his vision.

“Splash some water in your face?”

Q contemplates that. “Yes. I… I think I’ll do that.” He sways a bit more, holding himself upright on the back of his chair.

“Are you sure you don’t need me to come with you?”

“Perfectly,” Q declares, smacking a loud kiss on Bond’s lips. “I’ll only be a minute.”

Bond knows that, should all go well, it would take about twelve… He watches Q walk out of the room, unsteadily and fights down the urge to check if his earpiece sits right. Instead he turns back to the table when he can no longer see him and makes sure nobody follows him out of the room. (That would lead to dead people or explosions, very likely both.)  
“I’ll be lucky if he doesn’t just fall asleep upstairs…” he informs the other four guests at the table.

“He doesn’t drink often?” the woman next to Bond asks.

“He doesn’t usually like to drink much,” Bond replies. “It’s just that… this was supposed to be our honeymoon before his mother insisted we attend this… gathering.” He receives a round of understanding nods around the table.  
“It’s not that either of us minds these things, normally, but…”

Then the voice in his ear comes alive. _“I’m telling M you called him my mother,”_ Q lets him know, his voice perfectly clear and steady, not the slightest sign of intoxication. He must be in the elevator, then.

Bond does his best to not laugh. Then again, he’s used to Q’s voice accompanying him.

“Will you be continuing your holiday after the conference?” the woman asks.

Bond nods, emphatically. “Absolutely.”

_“I heard that, and I’m taking your word for it.”_

“In fact,” Bond continues, “I intend to take him to the harbour where our boat is waiting, right after dessert, provided he doesn’t fall asleep, after all.”

_“I **am** due a holiday, after this…”_

Bond listens to the elevator ding and the doors open and hears Q’s steps.

 _“I’m in our suite,”_ Q confirms after a moment.

Bond only follows the conversation at the table with one ear. Just enough that he wouldn’t appear too distracted.

 _“No, I’m not forgetting the gloves,”_ Q continues, apparently having decided that talking Bond through it would ease some of his nerves. _“And, yes, I am perfectly capable of climbing one balcony down and back up, again.”_

Bond can hear Q open the balcony door and then grunt as he hops down. There’s some clicking and a snap.

 _“These balcony doors have **appalling** security.”_

There’s a pause and almost a minute of nothing but breathing. Bond smiles at his conversational partner and absolutely does not fidget.

_“Well. It’s a good thing we changed plans… I’m on it, now.”_

Bond hears typing and some metallic sounds, every now and again, but mostly a lot of typing.

 _“Right…”_ There’s a click and a snap. _“Tracker and extraction are running, and I’ve set the explosives.”_

Bond checks his watch. Q’s been in that room for eight minutes, now.

“I’m sure he’ll be right down,” the man next to Q’s empty seat tells him.

Bond smiles, amicably. “I’m sure. He _has_ been rather tipsy…”

 _“I’m out,”_ Q says, followed by the sounds of him hauling his flyweight one storey up. _“Back in our room. Taking a new jacket and the phone with the trigger, just in case. There’s a change of clothes ready. We’re all set to leave right after dessert.”_

Bond releases a breath but refuses to relax too much. He’d do that when Q was back at his side where he could keep an eye and not just an ear on him.

It takes another couple of minutes and Q returns in one piece and sits back down, smiling at everyone at the table.

“Quentin.”

He saves his special smile for Bond. “James.”

“You look better.”

Q clears his throat. “I… had some water.” He’s almost sure he manages to blush a bit. “And walking around might have helped, too.”

“And once we get some food in you, you’ll be right as rain.” Bond can’t help himself and leans in to kiss him on the cheek and whisper, “I’m impressed.”

 

After dessert, they wait for their targets to leave, first, then they’re off, as well, _Quentin_ having no problems convincing everyone that the evening is over for him.

In their suite, Q heads for the bathroom. “I fucking _hate_ contacts,” he complains, removing them, first thing and putting his glasses back on. When he enters the bedroom, he gives Bond’s already half undressed form an appreciative once-over, making the other man raise an eyebrow.

“You realise we don’t have time, right now,” Bond tells him.

“Delayed gratification, Mister Bond. I’ve heard the most wonderful things about its effects.”

“Never been a big fan, myself…” Bond grins, amused, but gets dressed in the other set of clothes laid out for them (both consisting of a short-sleeved button-down shirt and light slacks). Q follows suit.

When they’re done, Bond pulls Q’s glasses off and puts them into his shirt’s breast pocket. “You weren’t wearing them, before. Put them back on in the car.”

Q rolls his eyes. “Fine.” He turns to leave, but Bond grabs him around the waist and pulls him close, showing him that for _delayed gratification_ to take effect, later, there must at least be _interest_ , now.

“Can I just say how fucking much your performance tonight turned me on?” he growls.

Q’s lips quirk, benignly. “You were doubting my competence?”

“Knowing and seeing are two entirely different things,” Bond informs him, grabs two handfuls of buttocks and pulls Q closer, still.

Q’s lips are a hair’s breadth from Bond’s as he murmurs, “Have you changed your mind about my appearances in the field?”

Bond captures the lips, licking and biting at them for a moment. “Absolutely not,” he states, firmly.

Q laughs, pushes himself away and grabs their bags. “Good,” he says, emphatically. “I hated flying here, I hate playing a giggly damsel in distress for a whole evening – especially when it only takes ten minutes to do what I really came here for – I hate all those ridiculously pompous and posh idiots downstairs…” he comes to stand in front of a grinning Bond and thrusts one bag into the man’s waiting hand, “… but I suppose it was fun putting on a show with you, 007.”

Bond chuckles and steals another kiss. “I see we understand each other.”

“Perfectly.” He straightens and loops a hand around Bond’s elbow. “Now, _darling_ , why don’t you help your still terribly tipsy sweetheart to the car so we can get the hell out of here and monitor the transfer, properly? It’s scheduled for in about half an hour.”

“Yes, dear.”

 

Q sits in a dark corner of a club near the harbour, the announced half hour later, monitors the progress of the data transfer on his phone with a smug little smile and waits for Bond to bring him a drink (“a proper one, this time, if you please, James”).

When someone slides into the seat in front of him, he’s about to send them away…

“Mister Bond.”

… instead he looks up, startled for a moment. They had _not_ used Bond’s real name for this mission. He relaxes (fractionally) when he sees who the person in front of him is.

“I’m a friend of your husband’s,” the man continues.

Q puts on a pleasant smile (that is at least half-fake – he knows the man isn’t lying, but that isn’t saying much in their business).  
“Mister Leiter. Of course.” He holds out his hand for the man to shake.

“Felix, please.”

“Quentin.”

That’s when Bond sits down next to Q, putting his drink in front of him while sipping his own.  
“Don’t bother asking for his real name, Felix. _I_ don’t even know that.”

Q takes his drink and empties about half of it. “Thank you.”

Bond smirks. “How are the relatives back home?”

“Increasingly happy,” Q replies, his eyes once more on his phone’s display.

Felix leans back in his seat. “I hear the young married couple has attended a particularly exclusive investor’s dinner, earlier…”

Bond puts on the slightly daft expression of the husband he’s worn all evening. “It was decidedly fruitful. Wasn’t it, darling?”

Q – apparently having had enough role-play for one day – only snorts, his eyes not flickering anywhere but back and forth over the screen. “Oh, yes. Decidedly fruitful.”

Felix eyes him. “I haven’t seen this one around,” he notes to Bond.

Bond’s front falls. “Enjoy it while it lasts. You won’t see him again.”

Q, hardly listening to them, suddenly grins, darkly.

Bond, of course, catches it. “Everything gone through?”

Q nods, satisfied. “Yes.”

Felix crosses his arms. “Quentin,” he repeats the name. “I see.” He smirks at the young man. “Enjoying daylight?”

Q returns the look, blankly. “Immensely.” Then his phone makes a noise and he frowns, navigating the touchscreen.

Bond leans over to see. “What?”

“How unfortunate,” Q bemoans, distractedly and opens another application. “It would appear that, while they’re certainly too late, they have discovered my program.” He activates a command and finishes his drink.

Bond puts an arm around him. “Did you just blow up their hotel room?”

“Now, now, James. Would I do that?”

“Yes.”

Q grins. “I think, perhaps, it’s time for us to catch that boat you promised me.” He looks straight at Bond, typing blindly on his phone with his free hand.

“I do believe it is,” Bond agrees.

When something in Felix’ pocket makes a dinging sound, Q looks at him.  
“You’re primarily interested in names, at this time, yes?”

Felix pulls out his own phone and raises his eyebrows.

Q receives a similar expression from Bond.

“You’re awfully generous tonight, dear,” Bond says, carefully neutrally.

Q puts his phone in his pocked. “You’d like your friends to remain your friends, wouldn’t you?”

Bond sighs, histrionically. “Always looking out for me.”

“It’s my job,” Q replies, frankly. “Since you need it. Also, I have an ulterior motive.” With that, he stands pushing Bond out of his seat.  
“Felix,” he nods at the man, cheerfully, “it was very nice meeting you, but if you’ll excuse us, I have further plans for the evening.” He walks a chuckling Bond out of the club and towards the car.

“Impatient?” Bond asks, sneaking an arm around Q, grabbing his arse.

“We’ve delayed gratification for long enough,” Q states. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Far be it from me to disagree with you on that.” He unlocks the car, both of them getting in.

“Besides,” Q continues. “I wasn’t the only one being professional, tonight.”

Bond sends him a dark look at that remark, before navigating out of the parking space. “I didn’t do a damn thing.” He doesn’t like feeling useless. And while he knows that Q has needed him along for the ride, he’s been on alert all night and didn’t get the chance to channel any of that energy. Well. Plenty of time to work off some excessive energy on the boat. “I didn’t even get to blow up the hotel room,” he adds mostly for effect.

Q wants to say something about Bond having done a perfectly good and invaluable job; instead, he picks up on the jibe Bond has made the end. “I’m terribly sorry. I’ll let you push the button, next time.”

They can hear sirens in the distance and then a fire truck passes by them, leaving Q in the odd space of a job well done and the empty space of consequences that follows right after.

Bond briefly looks at Q. “Just how big was that explosion?”

Q pulls off his glasses and rubs his face. “Nobody outside the suite was affected, I assure you.”

“You alright?”

“Yes, perfectly,” Q burst out, not quite sounding all that alright. “I’ve just killed a room full of very dangerous people; done a field mission with only the most rudimentary training; I practically ran the whole evening on a wave of how bloody brilliant I apparently seem to be for me to be sent, regardless…” He takes a breath. “And, well, that adrenaline is rapidly wearing off now, so I’d very much appreciate it if you could take me to your boat and distract me properly, before my brain manages to catch up with me and I collapse in a heap of pale computer genius who never should have been let out of the cellar.”

Bond stops the car at their dock and turns off the engine. “Q.”

Q looks up, his _’real’_ name enough to get his attention. He huffs. “And you think you didn’t do a damn thing?” He shakes his head. “I would have been _useless_ on my own.”

“Q, put on your glasses and look at me.”

Some annoyance takes over Q’s thought processes, but he does what he’s been asked. “And?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take you onto that boat and fuck you senseless, but I really need you to understand that you were perfect, tonight.”

Q just blinks at him.

“And I suppose your _’rudimentary training’_ was theoretical?”

“Of course it was! What else would-”

Bond interrupts him with a kiss. “You bloody idiot. How many field agents have you guided through missions? What else did you expect your _’rudimentary training’_ to cover that you haven’t seen first-hand?”

Q licks his lips. “I have no practical experience whatsoever, and-”

“Well. You do now.”

Bond’s steady voice and secure hands on his shoulders manage to relay the message, and Q relaxes, again.  
“Hopefully, that will be the end of my practical field experience.”

Bond nods and refuses to think about how important it is that Q seems to think so. He pulls him into a slow kiss, instead, running the fingers of one hand into the thick hair.  
“I need you at the other end of that line, Q. Don’t ever think otherwise.”

Q exhales, deliberately. “Alright,” he says, decisively. “The boat?”

Bond grins and nods to Q’s right. “Right there.”

Q looks and… his eyes widen. “Why am I even surprised that _boat_ apparently means _huge fucking yacht_ in Bond-speak?”

Bond gurgles, cheerfully (it’s frighteningly easy for Q to get that reaction) and gets out of the car, Q following closely behind.

Q trots along the footbridge. “I’m assuming Commander Bond has no problems handling this thing.”

“You assume correctly,” Bond replies and unties the hawsers. “Get on board.”

 

Bond then sends Q below deck with their bags, while he navigates the boat out of the harbour. It doesn’t take long for Q to find him again.

Q steps in close from behind and wraps both arms around Bond’s middle, breathing deeply.

“No breakdowns?” Bond asks, just to be sure, laying a hand on Q’s forearm.

Q shakes his head against Bond’s back. “No. Just… processing, I guess.”

Bond reaches behind him and moves Q to stand between his arms with his back against the steering wheel.

Q smiles and relaxes into a lazy kiss, slowly unbuttoning Bond’s shirt.

Bond keeps one hand on the wheel and holds Q close with the other, tilting his head when Q’s kisses wander from his lips to his neck.

“I don’t think I’m quite patient enough to wait until we’re safely out of the harbour,” Q adds for consideration and brushes the shirt off Bond’s shoulders to fall onto the floor.  
Q groans in frustration when his phone buzzes in his pocket and sends Bond an annoyed look when the man manages to reach it before Q and answers it.  
Not that it’s a big deal. It isn’t like the whole of MI-bloody-6 doesn’t already know that they have… recreational get-togethers, occasionally. Or, rather, regularly, to be honest. (While during their first private session in Q’s office they indeed hadn’t spoilt any clothes, they had both been sporting impressive marks on their necks, afterwards… and that had been that.)

That doesn’t mean that Q can’t be annoyed at Bond for taking liberties with his phone.

Bond brings the phone to his ear. “Bond,” he says, keeping Q in place with the whole length of his body (not that Q minds), nuzzling the side of his face. “Tanner,” he greets the man at the other end.

Q sighs and decides to just go with it. He deserves a break, dammit.

Bond grumbles a bit and leaves off of Q’s jaw. “He’s right here, but he’s also off the clock. I’ll bring him back in two weeks.” He unbuttons and removes Q’s shirt. “Yes,” he confirms one thing or other, distractedly. “And neither of us is injured, and all of the equipment is intact… Hm,” he hums and takes off Q’s glasses to put them on the panel. “I already made sure he knows that his work was exemplary.” He kisses Q (nothing too racy, but loud enough that Tanner probably gets an earful). “Mhm. I’m sure he can spare a minute tomorrow to write a report.”

Q rolls his eyes. “ _Give_ me that,” he demands and takes the phone, making Bond chuckle and kiss Q’s neck with one eye out the window and one hand still on the wheel.  
“Tanner. I’ll get the report to you sometime tomorrow. Will that be acceptable?”

“It had better be…”

“Shut up, James.” Q is surprised that his voice is still steady; Bond is moving deliciously against him. Still. He’d better finish this, quickly. “I… uh… yes. I’ll be seeing you in two weeks.” He rings off before Tanner can get another word in, edgewise.

Bond grins, dirtily and takes the phone to throw it down next to the glasses. “That’s my Quartermaster,” he growls, approvingly and licks into Q’s mouth, making him moan and move his hips against Bond’s.  
“How is your patience holding up?” Bond asks when he ventures another look at the direction their boat is taking. “Might take a while before I can leave here.”

Q obviously doesn’t believe in patience, anymore and has both their trousers open in a matter of seconds. “Right now, I just want to get off. We have two weeks to do it properly, after.”

Bond loses no time aligning their cocks and then wrapping both their right hands around them.

Q for a moment doesn’t know whether to fall forwards or backwards, but when Bond starts kissing and sucking along his neck, he sags against the wheel at his back, letting it hold him up.

“Considering the marital status of our aliases,” Bond ponders, establishing a rhythm for their right hands, “wouldn’t this be the right time to share your real name with me?”

Q gasps a laugh, his head thrown back, offering the length of his neck like a sacrifice. “You have two weeks to convince me of that argument, James.”

Bond bites him, sharply. “Not fair.”

“Not one bit,” Q confirms, keeping up the rocking motion against his lover.

They’re not really far enough out into the sea, but Bond lets the boat slow down so that he doesn’t accidentally slam into anything before their holiday has even really started and kisses Q deeply, reminding his body of the familiarity that is the Quartermaster in his arms.  
This young man – surprising him at every corner, so worthy of a trust James hadn’t thought himself capable of giving, anymore – is now moaning in his embrace, returning kisses and touches, showing that the familiarity is mutual.

Bond pumps them both through Q’s orgasm and then uses the come to slick himself so he can jerk his cock hard and fast, biting Q’s lips as he spills between them.

They remain where they are for a long moment, just kissing lazily and breathing hard, the boat rocking softy and the engine humming. Emotions float around them, wrapping them in warmth, yet staying just out of reach, not creating any need to be examined just then. 

Q grins, eventually. “That holiday is off for a promising start.”

Bond doesn’t think that that statement requires a comment. He has two weeks to prove it, after all.


	4. Deep Waters

Q sits on deck, cross-legged and tinkering. 

He’s actually managed to get used to contacts in the past one and a half weeks, the glasses soon getting uncomfortable in the constant heat and sunshine. He even stopped wearing sunglasses after a few days and is by now sporting a tan (that will probably disappear within two weeks in the lab, he assumes).

He’s holding a cylindrical, metallic object in one hand and a small screwdriver in the other, a large selection of tiny parts and pieces sorted on the floor in front of him.

He hardly feels the rocking motion of the boat, anymore; his hands are perfectly steady.

There is a soft smile on his face, as he turns the cylinder this way and that, making modifications, his bangs waving in front of his face with the breeze.

His smile widens when he hears a splashing sound and then footsteps over the wooden deck coming towards him.

“What do I have to do to get you to swim with me?” Bond asks, hunching behind him and leaning closer to kiss a sun-heated shoulder with cool and salty lips, droplets of sea water dripping onto the nape of Q’s neck, making him squirm away and grin at Bond.

“I don’t trust you,” Q says, mock-severely.

Bond’s icy blue eyes that match the sky but not the sea widen. “I’m shocked.”

“I know you.” Q narrows his eyes at him. “You’d find a way to scare me with that freaky ability to hold your breath for inhuman lengths of time.”

Bond chuckles and kisses Q’s lips.

“I’ll go swimming when you’re busy with something else.”

Bond kisses him again. “Promise you’ll go swimming with me sometime in our last four days here,” he presses.

Q tries to refuse, he really does. But when being the sole focus of Bond’s attention, the world tends to narrow down to the desires of two people.  
“We’ll see,” is all he can manage. Bond’s answering smile makes the concession worth it.

Bond peeks over Q’s shoulder. “What are you doing?”

Q smirks and holds up his cylinder. “Pet project.”

Bond actually freezes for a moment before he laughs when he sees the pen. “You must be joking.”

“Well, I’m only tinkering with the mechanism. I don’t usually carry explosive compounds on my person that are concentrated enough so they would fit in here and still have the desired effect.”

Bond nips at Q’s shoulder. “I’d be interested in seeing where you’d be hiding them, at any rate.”

Q looks down his front. His shorts are neither as short nor as tight as Bond’s, but he’d still have problems hiding anything in there.

“Out of scientific curiosity…” Bond eyes the pen. “With the explosives you have in mind, what kind of damage could that little thing do?”

If he looks closely, Q fancies he can almost see the explosion in Bond’s eyes. Or perhaps it’s the explosion in his eyes mirrored in Bond’s.  
“You’ll be very pleased, 007.”

“Another… _personal statement_ from Q branch? Or just from you?”

Q returns the heated look. “You’re a terrible influence on me.”

Bond huffs. “I read your file. You’ve been a very dangerous young man since long before you met me.”

Q grins, mischievously. “And yet that file wasn’t enough to tell you my name.”

“I have four days left.”

They kiss, and Q has to admit he’s surprised. Bond hasn’t tried to wheedle the name out of him for the entirety of their holiday. He’d be suspicious of that if he had any coherent thoughts left, what with Bond pulling him backwards to lie down on his towel and bending over him, never breaking the kiss.

There isn’t much intent behind the kiss. It’s warm and wet and deep and lazy, and hands are wandering mostly because they can and not because they want to take things further. Not at the moment, anyway.

A few more nips and Bond leans back a bit, just enough to speak. “When was the last time you shaved?”

Q grins. “Hmm… Four days ago? Same as you. You did us both. With that whopping big knife of yours.”

Bond kisses him again. Slowly, thoroughly.

“James?” Q murmurs against Bond’s lips.

Bond seems perfectly unwilling to break the kiss. “Mhm?” When no answer is coming, he lifts his head again, brushing some hair from Q’s forehead.

Q looks back, draws in a breath as if to say something, but then just pulls Bond back down into a kiss.

This time, it’s Bond who breaks it. “What?”

Q holds his eyes, is content to just get lost for a bit. “Maybe I like saying your name?” he finally says, a wisp of his usual snark sneaking into his voice. He knows that Bond can read people like no other. Hell, the man probably knows what Q is thinking before he’s even aware of it.

“Rubbing it in?” But whether or not Bond can read Q’s thoughts, he doesn’t call him out on them.

Q laughs, and whatever has intensified between them during their holiday is moved to the back of his mind, the looming emotion now buzzing pleasantly between them and not poking at Q, demanding his attention.

Bond kisses him. “You think too much.” Kisses him again.

“You _have_ met me, haven’t you?”

Bond, apparently happy with the reaction, cups Q’s jaw with one hand, tilts his head back and kisses him, deeply, the intent now definitely clear.  
He takes both of Q’s hands, presses them onto the floor over Q’s head and entwines their fingers while straddling his slender body all in one move.

Q hardly protests. He arches into the kiss and his hips closer to the ones so tantalisingly out of reach.

Bond draws along the contours of the full lips below his with just the tip of his tongue, making Q gasp and try to capture the slick muscle with his mouth, until Bond grins and pulls back a bit.  
“Are you ever going to take off that ring, by the way?”

Q raises an eyebrow. “Are you?”

Bond lowers his hips just enough to rub over Q’s hardening cock, once. “Just making sure that nobody snatches you up when we’re on land…”

Q, having had enough of Bond’s evading mouth, leans up to steal that kiss that he’s been refused.  
“We hardly left the boat. We only went to get food.”

“Are you complaining about my meticulous holiday plans?”

“Hardly.”

Bond leans into the kiss Q is demanding for a moment. “No, seriously. Talk to me. Would you rather…” His eye wander to the side. He’s not really sure what Q might want to do on a holiday, but theirs is almost up, and he wouldn’t want to deprive his Quartermaster of the relaxation he wants (at the off chance that he’s managed to hide something from him). As far as he’s aware, they’ve been more than content just shipping around, lying in the sun, swimming occasionally and shagging quite a lot.  
And, so it would seem, tinkering with potential explosives. Bond’s lips quirk as his eyes fall onto the metal pieces still strewn around on deck.

Q snickers quietly when he catches that look, then he hums, contemplatively. “Well…” he pretends to think hard, “… what else could I possibly want? I suppose the likes of James Bond have weaknesses for gambling, women, cars and going to overtly expensive establishments for vast amounts of alcohol…”

Bond kisses him to shut him up.

“I wasn’t done,” Q manages to squeeze in.

Bond lets him continue and kisses down his neck.

Q sighs, happily when Bond sucks another mark into his neck. “I think you play with your life often enough that you can go for two weeks without gambling. I…” he whines a bit when Bond sucks in a nipple, “… I’m not a woman, but it doesn’t look like I’m incapable of entertaining you.” Bond runs his tongue in circles over perky nipple and suckles at it again before moving to the other one.

“Absolutely.”

“The boat is at least as interesting as a car, and the food you’re buying is certainly expensive enough.” He moves up against Bond, one of his hands cupping the back of his neck while the other is running through his hair.  
“And as for me…” He frames Bond’s face and lifts the head to look at him. “Who else can claim to have James Bond waiting on them hand and foot, catering to their… _every_ need for two weeks on a yacht?”

“Just checking.” Wouldn’t do to miss a cue.

“I’ll be around buzzing people again, soon enough.”

Bond lowers his body so that he covers Q’s from head to toe, though without burdening him with his whole weight, and kisses him.  
“Should we take this below deck?”

Q reaches to the side and into a tool box he has lying there, taking out lube and a condom. “No need.”

“Always so very assiduous, my Quartermaster,” he says, grinning and then proves again that he doesn’t really need Q to tell him what he wants, removes both their swimming shorts and once again straddles him, just rocking against him for a bit.  
“Though why you keep insisting on these…” he frowns at the condom, “… is a mystery to me. We’re both checked up one side and down the other way more often than necessary.”

“It’s less messy,” Q promptly replies. “I don’t like a mess.”

Bond moves his balls along Q’s hardening cock. “Even if the mess will be inside my arse and not yours?” To make his point, he kisses him, twining their tongues and then bites those stupidly lush lips when he pulls back.

“Fuck, James…”

“Yes…?” He puts the bottle of lube in Q’s hand. “Get me ready. Won’t take much.”

Q already knows that. It never takes much with James (though, to be fair, it doesn’t take much with Q, these days, either). They kiss, and Q slips in two slick fingers, meeting no resistance. He adds a third after only having moved the first two in and out a couple of times.  
“Need a fourth?”

Bond groans against Q’s lips. “Hardly.” He looks at the condom. “Need this?”

Q hesitates. He knows that they’re both as healthy as they’ll ever be, but having been a teenager in the nineties, the use of condoms is very deeply engrained in his behaviour.  
“Well,” he finally says, “it’ll be your sticky arse, not mine.”

Bond smirks dirtily and moves to slick Q’s cock.

Q grabs Bond’s wrist in a much stronger grip than his appearance would lead to believe is possible and stares at him, seriously. “If you want to shag me without a condom, fine. But you _will_ use one with everyone else. Clear?”

Bond moves his hand (and Q’s as a consequence) to wrap around Q’s cock. “That goes without saying.” His voice is clear, with no hint of sarcasm or teasing. Then some softness creeps into it: “I would never endanger you like that.”

Q breathes out explosively when Bond pumps him, once, but his eyes firmly remain on Bond’s for a moment longer until he is satisfied with the seriousness of what has been said.  
Then he lets his feelings take over and nods, rapidly, desperately. “Fine, just… Okay.”

Bond moves up a bit. “Steady him for me.” He takes Q’s hand and makes it hold the cock still for him, then sinks onto it in one, smooth move that makes both of them groan.  
“Exquisite,” he breathes out, grinning widely at the pleasure coursing through him. He starts moving slowly, teasing and leans down for a bite at Q’s lips, his hands running up and down his torso.  
“So nice to see you getting some colour.”

Q chuckles, holding onto Bond’s arms. He moves his hips along with Bond’s downwards thrusts, breathing with them.  
“That colour won’t last two weeks, I can tell you that.”

Bond licks into Q’s mouth. “Pity. I was looking forward to the tan line on your ring finger and how you explain it to your underlings.” He speeds up, slamming down harder.

Q moans and reaches for Bond’s hands. “James…”

“You feel bloody perfect inside me,” he forces out, kissing Q deeply, clenching the muscles surrounding Q’s cock and making the man groan louder. He has to break the kiss again to let them both breathe, or, rather, gasp into each other’s mouths.

“Want you.”

“Yes.”

“So badly.”

“You have me. In me, Q.”

Q moans loudly, takes a hold of one of Bond’s thighs and with a quick twist at the precise moment he is seated deeply within him, he turns them both around, making Bond laugh delightedly.

“Fuck!” Q swears as he thrusts back into the heat he’s almost slipped out of. “You’re…”

“Yours. All yours for the taking, Quartermaster,” Bond growls and lets a demanding kiss follow.

“ _Mine_.”

Bond grins and wraps both legs around Q’s hips, drawing him closer. “Fuck me.”

“Yes, I…” Q gives up on words for a moment and ruts into the tight heat with abandon. “ _Fuck_ ,” he groans, having found at least some simple words, again. “How are you so _fuck_ ing tight every fucking time?!”

Bond clenches around him, chuckling breathily. “Only for you.”

Q whimpers into a kiss.

“Give it to me, Q.”

“James,” Q mouths against Bond’s lips, no longer speaking, just moaning.

“Fuck me, fill me, _come_ inside me, Q… 

“ _Fuck_! I… _yes, James_ … I…” Q slams into Bond three more times and captures his mouth in a bruising kiss as he spills inside him. The shuddering moan ends in a dry sob, and Q collapses into Bond’s arms.

“Beautiful,” Bond whispers into his neck. “So very beautiful.”

Q has enough of his wits about him that he decides to take action before he either says something stupid or the dry sob starts leaking tears or something equally silly. He quickly pulls out and moves down Bond’s body to take his heavy and leaking cock into his mouth.

“Q, you don’t… _Oh_!”

Q takes him down to the root and sucks upwards, slipping two fingers back into his arse.

“Oh, god, yes. So good, so very good, Q…” Bond’s hands weave into Q’s hair without pushing or constraining, just encouraging (and perhaps pulling just slightly, only enough to send tingles through Q’s aftermath-drunk body). “Suck me, you… god, you gorgeous little cock sucker. _Yes_!”

Q swallows everything Bond has to give and then lets his cheek lie on a strong thigh, breathing hard.

Bond keeps running the fingers of one hand lazily through Q’s hair. “You’re so very good at that.” He sighs deeply.

Q moves himself upwards to rest his head on Bond’s chest, where Bond immediately holds him close. Q smiles at Bond’s left hand.  
“I’m not the only one who’ll have to explain tan lines, Mister Bond.”

Bond just grins. “I don’t mind.”

It makes Q laugh and bite at a nipple, until Bond pulls him up into a kiss.

“Come swimming with me.”

Q’s shoulders shake in silent laughter and he leans his forehead against Bond’s for a moment, then looks into his eyes.  
“Was that your cunning plan all along?”

Bond’s teasing smile softens and he steals a small kiss. “Come swimming with me.”

Q sags a bit, smirking. He’s disappointed in himself. Really, he is. “No funny business.”

“I would never!” Bond proclaims.

Q stands and waits for Bond to follow.

“I’m serious. No diving like a lunatic and then scaring me.”

Bond all but swaggers towards him and sneaks his arms around his torso. “Just swimming.” He nips at Q’s neck. “You can help cleaning me up…”

“Right…” Q slithers out of the embrace and walks to the ladder leading into the water. “You insisted on making that mess, James.” With that, he dives head-first into the water.

James follows only seconds later, surfacing next to Q, laughing and pulling him closer.  
“This isn’t so bad, is it?”

No. No, it really isn’t. The water seems very much like James’ element. Wide, open, deep, dangerous, so very sensual and inescapable. And when one gives in and lets go in its embrace, it’s liberating.  
“Like a fish in the water, you are,” Q says, watching Bond glide around him.

“Navy.”

Q nods. “That would do it.”

“I’ll have you grow gills, yet…”

Q laughs. Then there are salty kisses and touches and more swimming.

 

The night finds them in bed, eventually, still slightly salty and very warm. Too warm to lie in each other’s arms. They rest in the dark, waiting for sleep to come despite the heat. Every now and again, a hand reaches across the bed to run over exposed skin.

“James?”

“Hmm?” Bond sounds as if he’s on the brink of sleep, already.

“Would you even want to use my name if I gave it to you?”

That wakes Bond up a bit, and he moves to lie on his side, facing Q. “Do you want to give it to me?”

Q hesitates. “I’m Q. I like being Q.”

“But you’d like to hear your real name when… appropriate.”

Q chuckles a bit.

“Do you want to tell me?”

“I think I do.” Still some hesitation. It _is_ late at night – after a day of sex and potential explosives and swimming – and one tends to say things at night that one might regret come daylight.

Bond inches closer and kisses Q. “I have a confession to make,” he murmurs.

Q instinctively follows the lips for another kiss. “Hm?”

Bond frames his face. “I’ve always known, Desmond.”

“What?” Q breathes out.

“It was always your name to give. And…” he smiles benignly. “I like you being Q, too.”

Q snorts, amused. “I really shouldn’t be surprised, should I?”

“No.”

Q shakes his head a bit, ruefully, and then kisses Bond again.

Bond ends it. “Any other late-night confession you’d like to get over with while we’re at it?”

Q tenses for the fraction of a second but then decides that he’s tired enough to risk it.  
“Three more days.”

“Three more days,” Bond confirms.

“What then?”

Bond runs calloused fingers along Q’s side, sending shivers through his body. “Then we get our arses back to work before we get restless, and… you will continue being a very convincing argument for me to do my level best to return home in one piece after missions.”

Q nods. It was silly of him to ask, really. This is pretty much what they’ve had from the beginning (perhaps even since before they were sleeping together), but sometimes, Q needs something tangible, something put into words, code. Something he can file away, put into neat order.  
“And I’ll have your back.”

Bond smirks. “And then have me _on_ my back.”

Q snickers. “I think I’ll do that.”

Bond squirms into Q’s arms. “Will I have a pen to take with me for my next mission?” he asks, innocently, making them both laugh.

“Yes, you’ll get your sodding pen. You’re like a five year old, I swear.”

Bond chuckles, pushes Q onto his back and proves that he’s neither a five year old, nor quite as tired as he thought.


	5. Of Pears and Shapes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for **Slone** and **Weis** for the prompts. (You can find them in the AO3 comments. I don’t want to spoil you.) ♥
> 
> More action/plot in this one… and no sex. Sorry. You’ll get that, again, next time XD

Q numbly stares at the blank screen, his ears ringing as if he’d been at the explosion site in person.  
He doesn’t demand for 007 to report; he can see that the connection has been cut, and that there is nothing he can do about it from this end of the operation.

He lowers his head; his fingers are tingling where they are pressed painfully against the desktop to keep him upright, and his vision is swimming and threatening to tunnel and simply fade to black.

He doesn’t black out, though. He is a goddamn professional, and there is no way to say that Bond has actually been killed… And he will need his wits about him in the days to come, because if Bond is alive, he has to complete the mission without the possibility of checking in.

He is faintly aware of the commotion about him but finds that he is unable to snap out of the mental space he seems to be captured in.

His eyes fall on his left hand. The tan line has almost faded to nothing, and the holiday has been over three weeks ago. He has absolutely no tan left, but for some reason, that mark is still there. Only just.

 

And _that_ is when he snaps out of it and realises that he’s only been absent for a few seconds. Moneypenny and M stand right behind him, the former about to touch his shoulder.

Q (barely visibly) shakes himself and starts barking orders. “Right then. It doesn’t serve anyone to assume that our agent is down, so let’s make sure that he can finish the objective! Walters!” He steps away before Moneypenny’s hand can make contact. “Get the clean-up crew in there. Preferably before either the government or the militia do.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I want each and every vehicle leaving the scene tracked! If one of them manages to fall off the grid, I need to know which one and where, _immediately_!”  
After that, he starts running several programs and plugs in a third terminal on top of the two of his that are already on it.  
Without looking up, he addresses M. “I’ll try to reconstruct as much of the data we extracted before the explosion as I can, sir.”

M nods, though haltingly. “There appears to be damage control that needs taking care of. Let me know when Bond reappears.” With that, he turns to leave. “Miss Moneypenny?”

Moneypenny hesitates.

Q doesn’t know whether her reaction should annoy him or make him feel better. “I’m fine, Eve. Let me do my work.”  
Everything distracting him from the safe world of numbers and codes is probably not good, he decides.

Don’t think. Don’t think. Don’t think. He’s fine. He does that all the time. He’s fine. Don’t think.

 

Q doesn’t leave his work station for another twenty-four hours (after what his underlings assume have been eighteen hours of preparation for the mission). He pieces together shreds of nonsensical information that would have a lesser programmer burst into frustrated tears; he immerses himself in a sea of digits, hardly surfacing to breathe; he drinks tea and tea and tea, to which his people add more sugar as the hours tick by, just to make sure he doesn’t collapse.

The twenty-fifth hour marks the breaking moment. Q doesn’t see it coming. He has gone longer without sleep, but, apparently, ignoring emotional issues to the point of exhaustion costs more energy than he has originally included in his calculations.

When he becomes aware of himself, again, he lies on a bed (at medical, he assumes), is covered in a scratchy blanket, and when he tries to flex one arm, he can feel something taped to it (IV, fluids, meds, whatever else). He feels fuzzy, much more than just from exhaustion, and though he wants to jump out of bed and yell at the first person he sees for drugging him, his eyes only open sluggishly.  
At least someone puts his glasses on his nose when they notice that he’s awake.

Eve.

Q narrows his eyes. “Anything?” he asks.

“Not yet.”

Q is vaguely thankful that she doesn’t lie or avoid the question.

“It hasn’t been that long, yet,” she adds. “You’ve been asleep for twelve hours,” she says, and before Q can start on the rant she can see forming in his expression, she interrupts the train of thought. “And you’re not to leave here until you’ve eaten, properly, and your blood pressure is back to normal. No discussion.” Her features harden. “I’ll feed you personally if I have to.”

Q attempts to convince his body to let him sit up. It doesn’t seem to agree with those ideas, and Eve pushes the button on the bed that raises the upper part, then hands him a tablet.

“Here. You can check in with Q branch if you like.”

He does like. “Thank you,” he allows grudgingly.

For a few minutes, she lets him tap and type and read information. At one point, a doctor enters and takes his vitals (during which he never acknowledges her presence) and says she’ll send some food in a bit (which he doesn’t acknowledge, either).

When Eve is reasonably certain that Q is up to speed, she clears her throat. “He’s done that before, you know.”

“Yes.”

“And he’s always come back.”

Q doesn’t respond to that.

“You can’t run yourself into the ground like that…”

“What would you have me do?!” he croaks, though he wants to shout, but his dry throat doesn’t let him. He should not have ignored the glass of water Eve held out to him, earlier. “Apart from my job that makes sure I’ve done everything in my power that he _can_ come back?!”

Eve remains unperturbed. “You can’t do your job when you’re lying in here.”

Q glares at her.

“M is very pleased with what you got from the data, by the way. Your whole team was staring at the results as if you’d just turned water into wine or something…”

Q sags a bit. Teasing flattery. It makes his stomach twist, painfully.

“You _have_ done everything in your power,” she insists. “Something that was actually only in _your_ power, according to what I’ve managed to gather.”

“But he still hasn’t reported back.”

Eve leans forward with her forearms on her thighs. “It’s too early. Two vehicles fell off the grid, and from what we could tell from the ones that are still on it, it’s highly likely that he’s with one of them. He’s not done, yet.”

Q nods. He’s seen the report. “Eve…?”

“Yes?”

“Have I…” He stops and licks his lips, this time not ignoring the water she hands him. He takes a sip and then just holds the glass in his lap. “I haven’t…” He pauses again. “Is there talk about me being unprofessional?”

Eve snorts. “Are you kidding?”

Q looks up, somewhat hopeful. He’s always known that he might perhaps react unprofessionally should Bond ever be in danger (more than usual, anyway). But somehow, he’s convinced himself that he could still maintain a front of professionalism. Him ending up in medical, however…

“You did something that literally nobody else could have done,” she states, firmly. “Granted, you pushed yourself too far, but it’s not like you’re the only one to have ever done that in this place.”

Q drinks some more, which seems to wake up his stomach and remind him that he’s not one of his computers that he can just plug in.

“You actually managed to get close, didn’t you?”

Q finishes the water. It’s funny. He knows that there’s been gossip, especially after their joint mission and the holiday, but nobody’s approached him directly, and neither has anyone approached Bond, as far as he knows.

Eve slowly, incredulously shakes her head. “I didn’t think that was possible. Anyone getting close to _him_ , I mean,” she quickly adds, “not you; you’re adorable.”

Q can’t help it. He grins at her.

“He’ll come back to you,” she says, managing to sound convinced. Then the teasing smile returns. “He’d be stupid not to.”

A minute later, the doctor brings him food, personally. She arranges some light chicken broth and bread on a folding table, then looks at him, sternly.  
“You are to eat all of that. If your blood pressure is somewhat acceptable in half an hour, you may leave. Then you are to eat something, again, in no later than three hours.”

Q dutifully spoons some soup into his mouth.

“Did I make myself clear?”

Q nods. “Thank you.”

The doctor turns towards Moneypenny. “I trust you will assign someone in his department to keep an eye on him.”

“Already done so.”

Q gives her the side-eye. “Traitor.”

Eve doesn’t look sorry in the least.

 

Q gets to return to his department after forty-five minutes (swearing like a sailor for having had to wait an additional fifteen minutes to have his blood pressure taken) and once again plugs himself into his workstation.

Unfortunately, all the decoding that had to be done has been done, which leaves Q with tasks that have nothing to do with bringing back missing agents, and he becomes increasingly frustrated.

Half a day later, all three targets turn up dead and floating in the harbour of Burgas (which Bond could have reached within the given timeframe if he had access to a plane at some point), but there is still no contact with double-oh-bloody-seven.

The rising levels of frustration have the upside that Q is eating enough; though, after a while, the only things that he is continuously shoving down his throat are chocolate-covered caramels and Earl Grey.

In the end, he takes a whole box full of prototypes to the shooting range. There is something to be said for mindlessly shooting inanimate things.

 

When somebody dares to interrupt him, he is ready to hail fire and fury and freezes on the spot when he sees that M has deemed it appropriate to visit, himself.

“Sir?”

“I believe we can be reasonably certain by now that Bond is alive and on his way out of Bulgaria, so why don’t you go home and get some rest, Q.” It’s not a question.

Q puts down his gun and wonders silently what M has pieced together about him and Bond. “It’s… I can sleep in the bunks. It’s no bother.”

M leans forwards with both his hands on the table that is still cluttered with weapons. “Go. Home. That’s not a suggestion.”

Q’s eyes dance back and forth, while he is obviously trying to come up with an excuse, and he blinks, furiously.

“Now, Q.”

Q forces his eyes to focus on M.

“I’ll make sure that you’re contacted, immediately, should he check in.”

Well. Whatever it is, M certainly has pieced together _something_ … Q licks his lips. “Yes, sir.”

M nods, satisfied, and then allows a curious look at the targets behind Q. He inclines his head. “Not bad. Your aim has improved.”  
Before he leaves, he orders a member of Q’s team he has brought with him to take care of the guns. It wouldn’t do for Q to have an excuse to stay longer.

On his way to the cars where his driver waits for him, Q wonders if M’s comment was a veiled hint at Q having had shooting practice with Bond on their holiday. Which he has. But he doesn’t think that M knows that for certain.

“Good evening, sir,” his driver says and opens the back door.

Q frowns. “Is it?” He checks his watch. Almost ten. “So it is. Good evening, Mister Punter.”

 

They manage to get fifteen minutes from headquarters before things go pear-shaped.

A car suddenly cuts them off in the front while another pushes them into the crash barrier, only Punter’s quick reflexes keeping them from damage worse than being badly shaken about.

Punter is trapped behind the wheel that presses him into his seat and only just manages to send a distress signal, but when the door to Q’s right is simply being ripped off by a contraption in the car next to them (that Q will spend time analysing, later), Q knows that if their attackers are after him, backup won’t be at their location in time.

He is being grabbed and pulled out of the car by a masked man and can see another one aiming a gun at him from the car to their side. His assailant, who is wearing a gun in a holster but not holding one, attempts to put a bag over his head… and Q sees red.

 _’You fuckers picked the wrong day to fuck with me,’_ he thinks.

He lets himself drop, twists his leg to kick his attacker’s out from under him, and finally uses the grip the man has on him to swivel him around and in front of himself, making him catch the bullet from across the street that is meant for Q.

The grip on his arms disappears, and Q reaches for the gun under the man’s jacket. He fires without thinking, and the first shooter goes down.

Q then runs for the car to their side that still has his own (bulletproof) door hanging from a steel cord, picks it up and hides behind it just in time before the two people from the car in front of them manage to shoot him.

Q doesn’t think he can even hear the shooting over the adrenaline roaring in his ears, and he’s not entirely sure what he does, only that he’s doing it, and then the sounds stop and the other two are lying on the ground… and he feels a searing pain in his left arm.

He looks around and sees that his first attacker is apparently still alive, though bleeding profusely. Then Punter manages to climb out of the car, gun in hand.

“Sir! Sir, are you alright?”

Q remains behind his protective door a moment longer, just to make sure that there is nobody else, then he can hear the sirens coming closer and struggles to his feet.  
“My arm is… I think I got hit.” He looks down, and, sure enough, he’s bleeding, but he still seems to be able to move his hand.

The man lying injured on the ground groans, which only makes Q angrier. So he stalks over, Punter right next to him, with both of them keeping their guns trained on him.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Q yells at him. The man seems to have a punctured lung. Oh, he’d probably survive. Seeing as he still has the other one. Not that Q cares overtly much, at that point. “I have spent days holed up in HQ!” He doesn’t care that he’s yelling at a man half-drowning in his own blood, or that he’s in the middle of the street, or that he should probably filter his words. Not anymore. “We’ve had a half fucked-up mission, my boyfriend is MIA, I’m running on caffeine and sugar, I spent most of the day shooting targets and just _waiting_ to do some _real_ damage, and you _fucktards_ thought it was a good idea to try and kidnap me?!”

The man on the ground appears to be on the verge of passing out.

“ _Fucking_ idiot,” Q swears. He only then notices that Punter is staring at him.

Back-up and med-evac appear at the same time, with Q waving them to the man lying by their feet.

“Him first,” Q insists. “And he’d better not die, the bastard.” With that, he hands Punter his gun and grabs his injured arm. “Ow.”

Punter chuckles. “That was… impressive, sir.”

Q looks at the three bodies lying dead on the ground and briefly wonders if he’s due another meltdown. Then he decides that his arm hurts too much to bother with one. He huffs.  
“Their own fault for underestimating me.” 

Q doesn’t think it’s necessary to mention that target practice wasn’t the only thing he’s got up to on his holiday. Bond had voiced the opinion that Q’s very basic hand-to-hand combat could do with some work, too. There is only so much lying around and having sex that two people can reasonably keep busy with, after all…

He doesn’t get to elaborate anything, anyway, as there is now a medic assigned tending to him and intent on bringing him back to headquarters.

Punter is about to be checked over for what is at least some cracked ribs and calls after Q: “I’m looking forward to writing this report!”

Q grins at that, then he freezes when his brain starts to catch up with the past few minutes. He suddenly remembers yelling at the attacker, the words belatedly echoing in his head. Has he really called Bond his… Well, fuck.

 

More than an hour later, Q is in bloody medical, again. His arm had to be stitched, it can hardly move a millimetre in its arm sling, and though the pain is dulled to a throb thanks to a dose of morphine, his head feels as if it’s made of cotton and a dozen cosy spider's webs. He _hates_ that, no matter how comfortable the rest of him feels, his head slows down to a sluggish drag that turns him into a person he doesn’t like very much.

Before he can just say fuck you to this shitty excuse for a day and fall asleep, M enters.

He remains standing by the door, his hands in his pockets. “I just can’t get you to leave this bunker, can I?” he says, sardonically.

Q grins, weakly. “My apologies.”

“I’ve just spoken to your driver,” M continues, walking further into the room and towards the bed. “His accounts sound very much like you missed your true calling.” His eyes are alight with humour.

Q snorts. “Hardly.” Then he sighs. “Do we know who they were?”

M’s ghost of a smile disappears. “Two of the bodies have been identified, and the one survivor is in surgery and will apparently make it, according to the doctors, so we’ll have the opportunity to question him.”

“And?” He blinks slowly. Every cell in his body wants rest.

“Paramilitary free contractors.” He pauses and lets that sink in. “Your actions were exceptional.”

Q’s head buzzes, his eyes just want to fall closed and stay like that for twelve hours, and it takes him a long moment before he can drag an answer out of the depths of the warm, sticky cotton candy in his brain. “They didn’t expect me to fight back, I’d recently had some additional training, and they caught me on a _really_ crappy day. I got lucky.”

M huffs a small laugh, leans in and pats the shoulder of Q’s uninjured arm. “Good work.”

Q’s blinking slows down more. “Yes, sir.”

Then he’s asleep.

 

When he wakes up, he feels surprisingly refreshed, almost as if he could open his eyes and jump out of bed. Must be all the enforced rest he’s got, recently.

One deep breath and a tiny movement make his arm remind him of the fact that even a small amount of jumping is inadvisable… Searing pain shoots through his arm, and he groans.  
“Shit,” he hisses and slows his breathing before opening his eyes.

“Has single-handedly taken out four armed assailants…” a deep voice somewhere to the right of his bed says.

Q’s eyes widen, and he immediately turns his head. Another surge of pain rushes through him because of that, but it hardly even registers, anymore.

Bond casually sits on a chair, holding what appears to be a report. He looks up from the papers and grins.

“James…”

Bond sighs, histrionically and puts down the report on Q’s bedside table. “Honestly, Desmond. I go missing for a few days, and already you seem to be intent on taking over my job.”

The certainty of having that idiot back makes the tension flow out of Q’s body like no shot of morphine ever could. He breathes so much more easily that he’s surprised to realise that he apparently hadn’t been doing it properly for quite a while. The smile is there before he knows it.  
“Well, someone had to.”

Bond returns the grin when Q holds out his uninjured hand.

“Come here, come here,” Q breathes, trying not to make it sound too frantic and mostly failing. He takes Bond’s hand, pulls him closer to the bed, then lets go to grab the back of his head and kisses him, wildly, all teeth and tongues and harsh breathing.  
He pulls at Bond’s hair enough that he can speak against his lips. “I’m going to chip you. I’m going to put a fucking tracker on you that not even you know how to get rid of, again, you bloody idiot!” He jerks Bond into another kiss, jostling his arm and hissing in pain, unable to ignore it, this time, despite his best intentions.

Bond pulls back and puts a calming hand on Q’s good shoulder, while he rests his other on the injured arm in a barely-there, gentle touch. Then he sits on the edge of the bed.  
“Now, who’s the idiot?”

The pain subsides somewhat, again, and Q sighs.

“Do you need more morphine?”

“No!” He sounds sufficiently insulted (at having got shot, at the pain, at his traitorous body, at Bond for suggesting more mind-slowing drugs).

Bond chuckles for a moment, then sobers. “You were brilliant, but this shouldn’t have happened.” His cold, blue gaze is intent, hard, angry. Fearful. “M is furious. They still don’t know how the attackers even knew you were in that car.” Yes, there is definitely fear in there.

Q catches it. “James…”

Bond schools his features into something more Bond-like. “And then you had to go and get yourself shot. You put a dent in my plans, you know.” He sounds close enough to indignant that the judges decide to allow it.

Q allows it, too, though he doesn’t buy it for a second. He just smiles at the badly concealed affection.  
“What plans?”

Bond leans in and whispers against Q’s lips. “The ones where you bend me over the nearest desk and fuck me three ways to Sunday.”

Q smiles into the following kiss. He doesn’t feel like any type of fucking, just now, but he appreciates the sentiment. All of the sentiments. He appreciates how Bond lets him know that he’s been looking forward to seeing him, how he lets Q see through his suave persona and into a part that _does_ care, how their professional lives and their personal ones interweave almost seamlessly…

“That is so much more satisfying than just the gossip.”

They break their kiss and turn their heads to look at a smirking Eve who is leaning against the doorframe.

Bond raises an eyebrow at her. “You’re interrupting our moment.”

She smirks for a moment longer, then pushes herself off the frame and into the room, the smile gone.  
“He’s awake.”

Bond immediately straightens, though he remains seated, and Q grabbles for the remote to his bed, so that he can sit up, too and put on his glasses.

“We have a lead,” she adds. “A local one.”

Bond’s expression turns thunderous. “I want it.” He’s about to stand, but Q snatches his sleeve. “You can’t expect me to do nothing!” he all but yells at him for his troubles.

Q rolls his eyes. “Of course not. Don’t insult me.” He holds Bond’s eyes with his, until he’s sure that the message got across. “I told you you’re not leaving again without being properly tagged. Well, I don’t have the time for that, so we’ll have to improvise.”

Bond gives him an _’I’m listening’_ expression.

“There’s a drawer in my office. It has voice recognition, encoded to both me and you,” he waves Bond closer, “the password is…” He whispers the rest into Bond’s ear, making the man grin, amused. “Not one word!” Q orders, sternly, though he has to hold a smile back, too.

“And what will I find in there?”

Q’s eyes flicker to Bond’s left hand, his lips twitching. “A tracker…” he says with such fake innocence that Bond snorts.

“You know…” Bond begins, “ _my_ tan line is still visible, unlike yours.”

Q blinks and looks down, and… sure enough, his finger is evenly pale. “It was still there three days ago,” he muses, as if he’s not aware that he’s speaking out loud.

Bond runs a finger over the ones of Q’s left hand and leans in to kiss him. “Get yourself checked over, take your pain meds like a good boy, and I’m sure they’ll let you back to Q branch to keep an eye on my reckless self.”

Q grabs Bond’s lapel before he can get up and kisses him, hard, possessively. “Don’t forget your tracker, and bring me back something nice.”

“Like the people behind the kidnapping?”

They grin at each other, darkly, before Bond kisses him, again, and stands. “Will do,” he confirms and takes the file Eve is holding out for him when he passes her.

“M is waiting for you,” she lets him know, smiling smugly.

Bond grins, rather satisfied that M apparently hasn’t even considered handing over this job to MI5 as he undoubtedly should have.  
“Miss Moneypenny, would you please be a dear and make sure that the head of Q branch does as the doctor orders before he leaves?”

She doesn’t answer that and just walks over to Q, who has already taken the tablet lying on his bedside table and started typing on it.  
She kisses the top of his head. “I don’t actually have the time to babysit wounded Quartermasters, so I’m going to trust you to listen to your doctor all on your own.”

“It’ll be a moment before James is ready to leave, anyway.”

She pauses, then continues. “Don’t think I won’t make the time for you, sometime soon, though. That display just now was disgustingly heart-warming, and I want details.”

Q raises his eyebrows at her. “Disgustingly heart-warming details?”

She considers that. “Well, certainly warming _something_ …” With that, she saunters out, just in time to let the doctor in to check on a laughing Q.

 


	6. Sex, Love and Long Shadows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ♥ Thanks to Meadowlark4491 for the prompt ♥ (I know I said I'm probably not going to go there, but, apparently, I am, anyway XD)

Q grunts and then laughs into the kiss when his naked back hits the closed front door. His breath hitches and his legs wrap more tightly around his lover as James shifts his grasp on the slender hips and buries his cock to the hilt inside Q.

They grin widely into each other’s mouths, breathing each other’s air, laughing, moaning, kissing.

Q has his arms around James’ shoulders, one hand reaching down his back, the other into his short hair.

James quickly speeds up his movements, thrusting into Q’s tight arse with abandon, holding his whole body up with his strength and feeling every inch of it move with him. Q throws his head back, ignoring how it bangs against the door and pulling James’ mouth to his neck, where James really can’t help but bite along the tense tendons, the bobbing Adam’s apple, the chin and then the lips, again. The bites turn into deep kisses, and James never notices how he slows his desperate thrusts into a leisurely pace. Slow, deep – oh, so deep – and so very connected that the kisses are just enough to swallow the words that threaten to spill over after four weeks of being nothing but a voice in each other’s ears (after the previous three weeks with a half fucked-up mission, a failed kidnapping attempt and injuries on both their parts).

They’re at Q’s flat, where Q had been awaiting Bond’s return (after having been sent home when it became clear that the mission was completed).

Q sighs and moans and whimpers against James’ lips, heat spreading from where he can feel every inch of the cock sliding inside him, and warmth spreading from somewhere entirely different.  
“Love this… missed feeling your cock… missed you…” He moves against James, urgently, trying to make him speed up, again.

“Been too long,” James more or less coherently agrees, his thrusts becoming sharper and faster. When Q moves a hand between them to get himself off, James bites his neck, growling.  
“I don’t know what you were thinking, waiting for me naked, you little – ah – you little imp.”

Q gasps, arching his neck for more stinging bites and jerking his hand faster. “Just fuck me and make me believe it worked.”

James doesn’t grace that with an answer other than doing as he’s told.

Q lets out a moan that turns into a delighted laugh. “Fuck, yes!” He squeezes and milks his cock, groaning loudly. His vision is swimming and then clearing just in time to see the blissful expression on James’ face as he can feel him twitch and spill inside him.

James slowly lowers them to the floor, keeping Q firmly in his lap and breathing heavily. Their mouths find each other, though they are mostly sharing air instead of doing any actual kissing.

“Welcome home…” Q eventually says, making them both laugh, breathily.

Bond steals a kiss. “I even brought you something.”

Q smirks. “So I’ve heard.”

“He’s a little banged up, but nothing our very competent medical department couldn’t fix.”

Q chuckles and leans in for another kiss. “You know how to spoil a guy,” he mumbles between nips at James’ upper lip and then just melts into a deep kiss that he has no intention of breaking for more talking. Eventually, however, James slips out of him, and he pulls a face.  
“Okay. Bath. I’m sticky.”

James just stands, keeping Q wrapped around his torso as he is and carries him into the bathroom. “As you wish, your highness.”

 

They end up in the bath with James leaning against Q’s chest and Q running soothing fingers through James’ hair.

James sighs and relaxes further, lets his head drop back onto Q’s shoulder and urges the man to turn his head for a lazy kiss.

Q hums into it. “You feel like you could use a massage, later.”

“From your clever fingers? Always.”

“You deserve it.”

James seeks out Q’s eyes. “So would you. We’ve both done good work with this one.”

Q smiles, pleased. “We have, haven’t we?” He sighs, running teasing fingers along James’ thighs. “Perhaps we should reconsider our world domination plans.”

James chuckles.

“Then again, that would be a pretty boring world…” His fingers wander over James’ balls, studiously avoiding the slowly wakening cock.

James laughs some more and bites Q’s neck. “I think I might actually love you a little.”

“I think I might actually return that sentiment,” Q replies, deadpan, without missing a beat.

“Cheeky.”

“I think you might actually love that part, too.” 

James grins, holding Q’s gaze. “You sound very sure of yourself.”

Q smiles back, and when he can see James’ expression soften, he takes any further words out of both their hands and kisses him.

James accepts the not so subtle change of topic, thankfully. “So that massage of yours…”

“Yes, James?”

“What does that include?”

Q’s clever fingers (as James correctly likes to call them), sneak behind his balls, this time. “Whatever you want.” The tip of one finger pushes into James.

James hums and nips at Q’s ear. “First, I really need you to work my back and shoulders a bit.” He leans back enough to look at him, playfully. “There was climbing involved, you know.”

Q snickers, pulls his hands back and slings his arms around James’ chest. “Back and shoulders,” he confirms. “With pleasure.”

James licks at the shell of Q’s ear. “Then… I’d like you to lick me open until I can no longer form coherent sentences.”

Q unconsciously licks his lips. “I can provide that.”

“Then I want you to finger me, just to make sure coherent thoughts are no longer possible, either.”

Q’s lips quirk. “Just checking. Do I get to fuck you at the end of that procedure?”

“I thought you wanted to take care of me?” James nips at Q’s neck.

“Oh, and I will. And I’ll take your coherency right out of your arse while I’m at it.”

James blinks and then stands without hesitation and gets out of the tub. “Well, get on with it, then,” he demands from a still reclined Q and towels himself dry.

Q holds back a laugh and demonstratively sinks deeper into the water, sighing. “You realise that there will be some more massaging going on between my hands on your shoulders and back and my tongue in your arse.” He does sit up at the end of that information and leans over the rim of the tub.

James grins and throws him a second towel. “All the more reason to get started…”

Q can’t really argue that point, so he gets out and dries himself off, before he grabs a bottle of massage oil from the mirror cabinet and joins James in the bedroom.  
He finds him stretched out on the bed, lying on his front on the towel.  
“What do you know. I _have_ taught you something about the proper care of equipment. Even if it’s just the sheets.”

James grins at him from where his head is resting on his folded arms, and it makes Q wonder how many people were ever granted that type of light-hearted amusement directed at them.

Q knows the dark amusement – which is a sight to behold in and of itself that he can both appreciate and return – the type that comes with people like them enjoying their work, not unlike the humour James can share with people he deals with in the field or other agents. _This_ type of amusement, however, the one that manages to lift the darkness for just a moment or two, the one that makes you breathe light air (or perhaps just helium, where you suddenly see that things can be silly without actually being silly)… Q doesn’t think anyone beside him has seen it alight in Bond’s eyes in a long time.  
That doesn’t mean that the wide grin and the gleeful feeling of a hunter who ripped open his pray and ate it, to then have it radiate blood and satisfaction from somewhere decidedly below the light feeling of breathing is any less intoxicating.

 _That_ James he has to share. _This_ James, the one lying on a towel on his bed, now, trusting and trusted… this is his James alone.

Q’s eyes wander hungrily over the naked form. And the two Jameses come together so deliciously for him.  
He doesn’t let James react to his hesitation and climbs onto the bed to straddle the strong thighs.

“Were you enjoying the view?” James asks when Q dribbles some of the oil onto his upper back.

Q spreads the oil before he starts working on the muscles in James’ shoulders. “Don’t act like you weren’t returning that.”

James closes his eyes and allows himself to relax into the ministrations. “Of course I was. You’re too beautiful not to.”

Comments like that still make Q pause, but he has himself conditioned enough to at least not react visibly, anymore.  
He works on James’ back, shoulders and arms, instead. When he kneads one of James’ hands, the man moans appreciatively.

“You are, you know. Beautiful.”

Q huffs, amused and kisses the back of the hand. “Your eyes are closed.”

“I know every inch of you by heart.” When Q doesn’t comment and only moves to the other hand, he continues. “I could describe in detail what your cock looks like, right now. I can tell from the way it taps my arse when you lean forward that it’s definitely warming up to the proceedings, but you’re still too focused on working on me for it to go fully hard. I know that the foreskin is definitely pulled back over about half of the head, and the tip is glistening, but not yet leaking.” He growls in the back of his throat and grins, lazily. “And now that I’ve directed your attention to it, the foreskin is sliding back to reveal all of the head, as I speak, isn’t it?”

Q is definitely breathing harder, but until that point, he has managed to keep himself from checking what his cock looks like. He does look, now. And, dammit, if James isn’t right.  
Demonstratively, he leans forward and rubs his cock along James’ crack. “Excellent deduction. I’m impressed… But that won’t keep me from finishing this massage properly, just so you know.”

James smirks. “I’m sure I’ll survive.”

Q laughs, silently and kisses James’ back before he slides down his legs to massage lower, over the tempting arse and then the legs. Despite his now more than interested cock, he takes his time, and when he reaches the feet, he urges James to turn onto his back.  
“It very much looks like I’m not the only one warming up to the proceedings,” he says, working each foot between his hands.

“I’d ask you to get a move on, but you’re so bloody good at this…” His eyes are still closed, and his whole body is melting into the mattress. “I must have been a fucking saint in a past life.”

Q grins and treats the thigh muscles he can reach, now, with the same attention as the ones on the other side. “You’re certainly not a saint in this one.”  
He avoids in any way touching James’ cock and kneels with his legs on either side of his torso, massaging the chest, carefully working out knots where the old bullet wound is still visible.  
“Any issues climbing with that?”

“No,” James replies, though some of the relaxed muscles tense in indignation or possibly memory.

“Well, it’s better than what your first med eval suggested when you returned from the dead, but it’s still prone to tensions.”

James relaxes, again. “I have you to work out my kinks.”

Q smirks. “I don’t know. I like your kinks…”

James returns the smirk without seeing the one on Q’s cheeky lips. “Maybe later.”

“Definitely later,” Q confirms and makes James turn around, again. He kneads the shoulders, again, to see if the knots are now definitely gone, then teasingly wanders lower to squeeze two handfuls of arse and spread the cheeks.  
“Now, you requested something about my tongue, yes?” He doesn’t wait for an answer and teases the tip of his tongue into the cleft and over the hole.

“You can do better than that,” James quips, though it sounds somewhat breathless.

Q draws a little circle along the ring of muscles. “And you requested being rendered incoherent?” Then presses his tongue inside, sucking at the skin covering the twitching muscle, pulling the tongue out a bit to bite what he can reach, then push back in. He turns his tongue as much as he can while it is being squeezed, then he moves it back and forth in an approximation of what he very much intends to do with his cock, very soon. But not too soon.  
Both his hands keep a tight grip on James’ arse, making sure his tongue gets all the access possible. He licks, sucks and bites, slicking the hole as much as he can, getting his own lips and chin smeared with saliva and enjoying every moment of it.

James might or might not be incoherent. He clutches his pillow and doesn’t speak. It hardly matters; Q receives the message regardless, reads the trembling in James’ thighs, the spasms engulfing his tongue, the harsh breathing and the gluttonous moans that he doesn’t even try to hold back.

While Q’s fingers stay on the arse cheeks, his thumbs tease the heavy sac, and he can feel the skin being pulled as James’ cock jumps unseen against the sheets.

“You… fucking glorious,” is the first thing that escapes James’ lips.

And as to not interrupt his rhythm, Q just pushes one of his oil-covered fingers into James’ loosened hole to the hilt, making him jerk and push backwards.  
“That wasn’t a coherent sentence, was it, James?” He bites one firm arse cheek, easily slipping a second finger inside with hardly any resistance. 

James laughs, breathily and spreads his thighs wider. “No.”

Q kisses and licks James’ back and reaches for the bottle of massage oil that is still lying on the sheets somewhat within reach (though he has to stretch a bit to get to it without slipping his fingers out).  
He lets some of the oil dribble down James’ cleft, moves his fingers in and out the hole to slick them more and work in a third finger, maddeningly brushing past the prostate, finding it unerringly but never giving it quite the pressure that Q knows James prefers.  
“I would move this along more quickly…” Q says, sounding deliberately distracted, “but you requested a finger massage, first.”

“Cheeky fucking tart. Do your worst.”

“Hmm.” Q twists his fingers. “That is much too coherent, again, James.” He moves the fingers out and then back in, putting pressure to the front, definitely enough to shake the coherency.

James groans into the pillow and his knuckles turn white from the hard grip the hands have on the soft cotton.

“I hope you don’t mind that I’ll do my very best instead of my worst.” Another groan is the only answer he gets, so he continues his ministrations, now finding and treating the prostate more to James’ liking, repeatedly.

James is sweating and writhing and alternately biting groans into the pillow and babbling filthy nonsense. Sometimes even sweet nonsense.

Q screws him with his fingers for a moment longer, only breaking his rhythm for the blink of an eye when he hears James’ last garbled words.  
“You aren’t even aware of what you’re saying, anymore, are you?” he marvels and accentuates the next thrust of his fingers with a sharp bite into the soft skin where James’ arse meets a thigh.

James all but yells into the pillow, his hands and fingers finally losing control and ripping the pillowcase.

Q feels rather drunk on the power he has over the man splayed open in front of him, and decides that James running an assorted litany of _’fuck, Q, gorgeous, fuck me, do me, take me, Q, fuck, love you, you fucking brilliant man’_ and ripping pillowcases means that there has been enough foreplay.  
“Up. On all fours, beautiful.”

James complies, immediately. “Just get in me, now.”

Q wastes no time positioning himself, just slicks himself up more and pushes forward, not stopping until he is buried inside James’ tight hole, his balls pressed tightly against his arse.  
Then he has to pause, his cock is being squeezed deliciously, and while it hasn’t got any attention before just now, the goings on have been more than enough to get him close to coming, so that he really needs to breathe for a moment.

James doesn’t particularly agree with that plan of action.  
“Just do it, Q, do it, fuck me, now, now, now, Desmond, _please_!” He clenches his arse and moves backwards.

“For fuck’s sake, James!” He grabs James’ hips with both hands. “Hold on just a minute.”

James trembles from the strain. “What are you doing to me?”

Q tries to calm his breathing, but this makes him laugh. “Me? You’re squeezing the life out of my cock.” He runs firm hands up James’ flanks and down, again.

“If you would just fuck me, already, I’ll come without you even touching mine.”

That definitely piques Q’s interest. It would be a first… He breathes deeply, relaxes and then starts thrusting. He moves so that after every deep thrust, one to angle at the prostate follows, dizzying James with filling him as deeply as he can and driving him mad with want from the inside out.

“Yes. _Yes_! Like that. You… fucking… unbelievable… _so good_.”

Sweat runs from Q’s brow and into his eyes, as he frowns in concentration, doing everything he can to not lose focus or rhythm. He doesn’t want to tease, any longer. He keeps up the pace, the maddening tandem of thrusts.

“Desmond…”

Q trembles when he can feel James spasm around his dick, and he gives up on his pattern and just thrusts as deeply and as hard as he can, just following, following, following.  
“God. Fuck. _James_!”  
He collapses onto James’ back, once the man’s legs give out and he sinks into the mattress. It hardly even registers when he slips out of his lover.

 

He doesn’t know for how long he remained there, but he only becomes aware of himself, again, when James suddenly flips them over and leans over Q, kissing him with a wide grin on his face.

Q blinks at him, but after a second or two of his brain coming back online, he returns the kiss.

James hums. “What did I do to deserve you?”

Q grins. “You begging me to fuck you certainly helped…”

James laughs, delighted and bites Q’s lips. “So fucking cheeky…”

Q licks James’ lips and sucks first at the lower then the upper one.

“And seriously fucking amazing, ‘s what you are,” James adds, running a thumb over Q’s lips.

Q chuckles, captures the thumb with his lips and sucks it into his mouth. “I _am_ quite amazing. I have many sought after talents, you know…”

James’ grin widens. “Other people don’t know the half of it.”

“I quite like it that way. I’m picky.”

“You are wrong, every now and again, though…”

Q raises his eyebrows. “Oh, really.”

“Mhm,” James hums, confirming. “Like when you thought I wasn’t aware of what I was saying, anymore. I remember it quite clearly.”

Q’s eyes widen, fractionally, and he blinks, rapidly. “And you can just say it? Just like that.” He doesn’t know what confuses him more. That James just says it - and unmistakeably in all seriousness, now - or that he himself has issues with it, or that he has issues with it _while James doesn’t_. They were supposed to be on the same, emotionally stunted page, dammit!

“Problem?” James asks.

“Surprise.”

They look at each other for a moment longer, both letting that sink in.

Eventually, James kisses Q again. “You’re safe.”

Q fidgets a bit and gives a half-shrug. “Well, I’m not about to go anywhere, that’s true.”

“And I trust you. I can trust you blindly, and I know you’re not going to break that trust.”

“Of course not!” Q shoots back, immediately. “It’s just that I’m not particularly keen on spouting declarations when it’s just a matter of time before you’ll finally manage to get yourself killed somewhere, you idiot.”

James musters Q with an unreadable expression. “Do you want me to quit?” He sounds dead serious and calm, as if he doesn’t care, either way.

Q doesn’t even think about what that eerie expression on James’ face could mean. He just stares at him as if he’s lost his mind.  
“Are you crazy?! Of course _not_!”

James lets go of his poker face and grins, widely, honestly. “I didn’t believe that someone perfect even existed, until I met you.”

Q pulls a face and tries to roll to the side and out of James’ arms. “Don’t be ridiculous, James.”

“Desmond.” The name stops Q’s struggles, but the man keeps his eyes averted. “You’re perfect for _me_. You know who I am, what I am, what makes me. And still you want me and think me worth your while.”

Q sighs, still not looking at James. “You’re a good man, James. A dark man, but a good one.”

“So are you.”

Q’s lips quirk.

“And you don’t want me to be any different,” James adds.

“Neither do you.”

James studies Q for a while, his fingers running along his face and into his hair, while Q’s draw similar patterns on James’ back and arms.  
“Perhaps someday – though not someday too soon – I might actually quit if you were to ask me.”

Q’s hands still for a moment before taking up their caresses, again.  
“If and when you do, it has to be your decision. I will never ask you for it.”

“And that’s why I love you.” James doesn’t hesitate. It’s been obvious to him for quite a while, and speaking it out loud doesn’t change anything.

Q is slightly warier of the spoken word, however.  
“I love you, too,” he rushes out, and then finally looks at James with angry fire in his blue eyes and quickly adds, “but don’t you _dare_ get yourself killed, now, or I will never forgive you.” His pulse speeds up, as if he prepares for the universe to collapse because he dared to voice the unspeakable. It doesn’t. There is no gaggle of ninjas that attacks them, either. No bombs going off. Just James smiling at him, ruefully.

“I’ll do my best not to.”

“See that you do!” Q snaps.  
Then Q releases the breath he’s been holding. “It’s not like it would hurt any less to lose you now than it did before.”

James runs a finger over Q’s lips, before he kisses him to force the dark thoughts back.

 

Hours later, they are being woken by James’ phone. The man grumbles and groggily picks up.

“Bond.”

Q turns and curls around James’ torso.

“Yes, he’s here.” He listens and then props himself up on one elbow. “ _What_?” He turns his head to stare at Q who sleepily rubs his eyes, slowly waking up.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’ll ask him. We’ll be in, shortly.” He turns off the phone.

Okay. That doesn’t sound good, Q decides and reaches for his glasses.  
“What happened?”

James looks at the phone, his mind spinning almost visibly. “Do you know the man I brought in?”

“Sean Dubois? No. I saw the file… Why?”

James’ jaw sets, and he puts the phone back on the bedside table. Only then does he look at Q, again.  
“He refuses to talk to anyone but you.”

 


	7. Past and Present

Bond stands next to Tanner in front of a one-way mirrored wall, staring at the man inside sitting on a chair at a table with his hands tied behind him, two armed guards flanking the door.

They’re waiting for Q to finish his brief and be let in to talk to their captive.

“Good thing that glass is bullet-proof,” Tanner remarks, casually.

Bond coolly turns his head and raises an eyebrow, but remains otherwise unmoving. With his expensively tailored, dark suit, he looks like a statue within the bright room, standing firm with cutting edges.

Tanner’s expression is... deceptively mild. As it usually is. He smiles a bit at Bond. “I remember what you did to Ronson’s killer,” he says and returns to looking into the interrogation room. “I can’t even imagine what you’d do to this one if given the chance.”

Bond shifts barely visibly. For the fraction of a second he tries to convince himself that it’s a meaningless remark, but it’s a fleeting second.  
“Dubois didn’t try to kill Q,” he says after barely a moment’s hesitation.

“His thugs might have got him killed, anyway,” Tanner replies. “And while I’m sure Ronson was important in his own way...” he makes a short pause, only long enough to be noticeable, “he wasn’t Q.”

Bond’s left eye twitches. He’s saved from having to find a suitably neutral answer by the door opening and Q walking towards them with M and an interrogator following closely behind.  
“Anything?” he asks Q.

Q sighs and apprehensively stares through the glass. “No. Apparently, we’re supposed to have shared some classes at Cambridge, but...” He shakes his head.

“But?”

“I have a near eidetic memory, and while it’s not quite as gapless for people, neither his name nor his face is in any way familiar.”

Bond huffs. “I don’t like this.”

One corner of Q’s lips quirks, and he tilts his head to look at Bond. “He’s been x-rayed, ultrasounded and searched for any type of signal going to or from him. I checked the results, personally. He’s not hiding anything, and there’s nothing he can do.”

Bond turns to face Q. “He wants to talk to you, not blow you to pieces.”

M steps closer before Bond can list his (most likely well-founded) reasons. “Q can abort the questioning at any time.” When Bond’s icy cold eyes flicker to him, he holds up a hand. “And so can we.” He holds Bond’s intent gaze and doesn’t back down.

Bond, interestingly enough, does. He exchanges a look with Q, who appears apprehensive but determined, and Bond can read something else in his expression… a need, perhaps? He then faces the window again. “Get it over with.”  
He knows that he could go on another tirade how it isn’t Q’s job to question prisoners, just as it isn’t his job to go out into the field on an undercover mission, but he has a feeling his complaints would once again remain unheard, and he slowly begins to understand why.  
It’s not that he doubts his Quartermaster, far from it, but Q is much too valuable in his intended position behind the screens and in the labs (and at James’ side, god fucking dammit!) to jeopardise that because of random demands made by criminals.

The interrogator leads Q to the door, looking as if he expects Bond to just grab Q and make a run for it.  
“Remember. Your job is only to see what he wants from you. The interrogation will not be up to you.”

Q nods. “I do hope I won’t have to pretend to believe his made-up story… I don’t think I could pull that off.”

“No, but whatever he says, don’t let him goad you.”

Q nods, again. “I’ve heard all that. Let’s just...” he waves a hand at the door, “... get it over with.”

The interrogator opens the door and lets Q enter, before closing it, again.

Bond doesn’t let his eyes stray from their captive for even a second. “At the first sign of trouble, you get him out,” he demands from both M and the interrogator, the tone of his voice allowing no room for discussion.

They watch Q take a seat.

“Mister Dubois,” Q greets the man, laying his hands on the table and folding them, casually.

“Quartermaster,” Dubois says, nodding slightly.

“I trust you understand that my time is not unlimited. You wished to speak with me?”

Bond on the other side of the glass almost grins at Q’s exasperated tone. It’s refreshing to see it directed at someone else for a change.

Dubois smiles, slowly. “I think the fact that you are here at all shows that you will make all the time I want.”

Q tilts his head. “Not at all, no. I am here to see what you want from me specifically, then I will leave you to the interrogators.”

Dubois huffs, seemingly unimpressed.

Q leans forward, returning the slight smile. “You seem to be under the illusion that this is a film. Let me assure you that it is not. We will not play games with you on the off chance that the information you claim to have even exists. We will not be blackmailed. I do not care about you or what you want from me. I’m sure you’re aware that our interrogation methods can range from this...” he gestures at the room, “... to something a lot less pleasant, and none of the interrogators particularly care whether or not you live through it.”

Dubois’ smile remains, but Q has no intention of backing down, now that he got started.

“It’s quite obvious that you didn’t act on your own; you were acting on someone’s order, and we will find them, eventually. With or without your help.”

“That is very unlikely.”

Q almost laughs. “You see, I am somewhat impressed that you apparently managed to suss out my name, but since you were decidedly sloppy with your own fake CV, I’m assuming someone else found me for you. Someone who will be very unhappy that you blew apprehending me.”

“Let me get one thing clear, _Desmond_. I don’t take orders. I give them.”

Q raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “If even the likes of me can tell that you’re lying, you stand no chance against an interrogator.” He nods towards the window. “One of them is behind that glass. I’m sure he’s very entertained at this very moment, and my limited time is rapidly running out.”

“I don’t lie.”

“That was almost convincing. However... you were never even close to where I went to university, and we both know it.”

Dubois straightens in his seat as much as possible with his hands tied to the back of his chair. “I have been in no less than _three_ of your classes with you...”

“And now you’re going to impress me with names and dates, yes? Perhaps you even know a thing or two about the topic?” Q almost starts having fun. “Why don’t you save your breath? We have the list...” He freezes, and his eyes stare into the middle distance, before they snap back, staring at the man in front of him.

Q abruptly stands and walks to the door. “Open up, please.”

“Hey!” Dubois calls after him, his firm and loud tone obviously a last attempt to hide his insecurity. “I’m not done with you, yet!”

“That is a pity, then, isn’t it?” Q says, sardonically and leaves the room, facing M, Bond, Tanner and the interrogator.  
“We don’t need him. He’s a sockpuppet. Whoever got him onto this job, however, does know me.”

“Taking the three classes mentioned?” M asks.

Q hesitates. “I don’t think so. But someone who would know enough about the topic.”

Bond steps closer and grabs Q’s arm. “You have someone in mind?”

Q seems far away. Or perhaps long ago. “I can’t...” His voice drifts off and he shakes his head.

“Q!”

Q blinks and becomes aware of the people with him, again. “I might have a hunch, but I need to do some research. This isn’t... Something is not right.”

Bond looks ready to demand more answers, so Q turns towards M.

“Sir? I don’t believe there is an immediate danger.”

M hesitates, his eyes wandering from Q to Bond and back. “Fine. You have twelve hours.”

Q nods and then lays a hand over James’ that’s still tightly wrapped around his arm. “James. It’s fine. I’ll be alright. I won’t be leaving HQ. Just let me do this.”

 

It doesn’t take twelve hours. Q has his hunch confirmed after three, his fears after five, and the tiny hope he’s had almost completely disappears after eight. (Well. It was really no more than six, but one tends to cling to hope the longest.)  
He sits staring at his computer, his elbows on the desk, his hands clasped in front of his lips, telling himself that he will call M in just a minute.

That is when Bond finds him. “Your sockpuppet is surprisingly resilient,” he says by way of a greeting.

Q startles and blinks at Bond. He isn’t startled enough to not take the chance of stalling some more. “And?”

“As you said. He memorised the information about you, he doesn’t actually have a memory of it. And while he is a hacker, he hasn’t studied computational mathematics, or so one of your underlings who watched the interrogation claims.”

Q isn’t surprised, but he slumps a bit in his seat.

“Q,” Bond prompts. He doesn’t say anything else.

Q keeps staring unseeingly at the screen and is secretly glad that Bond doesn’t just walk around the desk to look at the information himself. Finally, he sighs.  
“Professor Marjorie Patel.”

“One of your professors?”

Q nods, absently, then breathes an empty laugh. “We had countless discussions about one of her pet subjects. She kept working on the code for a universal key.” He huffs. “Which I always thought was ridiculous. You can’t build a key for a lock that does not yet exist, but she was convinced that programming as such was limited, and that, eventually, you would have to find one key for all codes.”

“And she’s behind a kidnapping attempt?” Bond asks, dubious.

“Yes, I… Once I knew where to look, it was obvious. The individual cases are unconnected, but… She’s been involved in,” he clears his throat, “… a number of activities. At first I thought that perhaps somebody was using her family against her…”

“But?” Bond asks, once it becomes clear that Q isn’t going to continue on his own.

“Her ex-husband and children are in France. There hasn’t been any kind of contact in years.” He straightens in his seat. “I would still suggest that the family be watched when she is apprehended, just in case. I can’t find any traces of blackmail, but that doesn’t have to mean that there isn’t any.”

“And what do those _activities_ of hers include?”

Q’s jaw sets, and he bursts out, “cyber terrorism, arms dealing, funding of terrorist activities, money laundering, people trafficking and probably tax fraud, come to think of it, since her official university projects kept getting ludicrous _’funds’_ , and that is really only scratching the surface of what I could find on such a short notice.” He stops his babble and slams a hand on the table. “I spent hours and hours hanging on every word that woman was saying, James! And if all the criminal activity wasn’t bad enough, I’m not sure I even want to know why she would want to have me kidnapped by armed lunatics, and…” One of his hands covers his mouth, and he squeezes his eyes shut. When he can feel a strong hand on his shoulder, he slowly normalises his breathing.

James for a long moment just remains next to him. They could afford to waste another few minutes.

Q doesn’t want to waste more than necessary, however. Not anymore. Now that it’s out, he just wants to get it over with. He takes a deep breath and shrugs off the hand.  
“It shouldn’t be a problem to get her. She directs the criminal elements; she doesn’t seem to be dealing with them in person. I doubt she ever even met with Mister Dubois, face to face.”

Bond nods. “I expect she’ll know that someone is coming.”

“Well, we have Dubois. So I guess she knows it’s only a matter of time, now.”

Bond nods, again. “Right. I need everything you have on her.” He straightens. “Send it to my phone.”  
With that, he turns and walks out, leaving Q behind.

 

Q doesn’t leave his station. He remains resolutely behind the safety of his computers and screens. He hardly notices when the bare-bones night crew is being replaced in the morning. He remains, he guides Bond, he watches developments.

In the end, it turns out to be frustratingly anticlimactic. Bond apprehends the professor just as she leaves her house. There are no explosions, no gun fire, no hired thugs. Nothing.  
Q watches everything on CCTV. And he feels… numb. Then, after a while, stupid. Useless. Angry. And there is no adrenaline to compensate. Bond doesn’t even exceed the speed limit, and Q feels irrationally angry at that, too.

Of all the times for Bond to end a mission without so much as a scratch on the car’s paint job, did it have to be this one?

 

Frustrated and exhausted, he retreats to his office to rest his eyes for a bit on his couch… It is a nice couch. He likes that couch.  
He has odd dreams of him and James getting married by Felix Leiter on a yacht, with Moneypenny giving them a blue exploding pen, each, instead of rings, and then the two of them blowing up Cambridge on the sandy beach. He is somewhat unsure of the geographic accuracy of that, and, for some reason, the first thought he has when he wakes is that blue exploding pens wouldn’t leave tan lines on fingers…

He jerks and props himself up on one elbow before the odd thought even vanishes, then he shakes his head to clear it.

He peeks at the clock on his desk. He’s only been asleep for a little over four hours.

“Sir?”

Seeing as he only just realised that Cambridge and beaches don’t go hand in hand, the voice startles him some more, and he swivels around. (The back of his mind provides him with the information that there has been a knock on the door just before he woke up. At least, that’s what the explosion in his dream sounded like.)

“Sorry to disturb you, sir.”

Q waves her off and sits upright. “Miss Olmos, yes. Sorry. What’s going on?”

She looks almost gleeful. “Professor Patel’s harddrives have just been brought in, sir.”

A slow, dark grin grows on Q’s face. He decides that he’s done feeling useless and to redirect his anger in a more productive way.

 

After several hours of hammering on numerous keyboards, Q has an epiphany. Well. Sort of.  
What with all the things going on, recently... the field work, the attempted kidnapping, the shooting, the fighting, the questioning of criminals... one could almost forget where he really belongs.

He belongs here. Right here. With his computers, his monitors, his inventions, his team.

Bond is the one to be out there. And Bond is also one of the people who need Q where he is. They are such an effective team _because_ they both know where they belong. Down to both their cores.

Q might love Bond, love him for who he is, but that doesn’t mean that he has to become something more like him. He can’t deny that taking Bond-like actions feels immediately satisfying and like he’s doing something more, something to make it less likely that his love will be a love lost, soon. But that isn’t the case, is it? On the contrary. All it does is make it more likely that Bond will be the one to lose a loved one, again, and Q would rather go through that himself than destroy James that much more thoroughly.

All of that isn’t a sudden revelation that has him suddenly pause while typing or jump in shock, but rather a settling kind of feeling. As if he’s melting into his wires, again.

He is the most explosive from where he stands, and while the attempted kidnapping could hardly be called his fault, he decides he will leave it at that. Enough’s enough. He grins.

Yes. Only sort of an epiphany. More of a catharsis, then, really.

 

His eyes fly over numbers and locations and names as he follows a trail of laundered money to the Caribbean, leaving everyone around him clueless about his inner realisations.

“004 is in South America, currently, yes?” he asks the technician watching that particular agent. When he receives a nod, he sends the files he has worked with to his station. “Get the information to him and send him to Cuba, but clear with M, first,” he says, distractedly, already working on the next chunk.

As it happens, he is interrupted before he can finish that part, and when M makes himself known with Bond in tow, Q waves a programmer over to his station to take over, making sure he doesn’t lose the thread.

“Sir?” He addresses M, somewhat curious about the all-too-carefully neutral expression on James’ face.

“You are making progress with the data?”

Q blinks a few times. “Yes, sir. Is there a problem?”

“Professor Patel has asked to speak with you.”

Q’s eyes flicker to James. That would explain the expression…  
“And why are we even contemplating acquiescing to this demand? We are having no problems extracting information from her computers, and as has been seen, I am hardly an interrogator…”

James relaxes, slightly.

M nods. “It’s of course your decision.”

Q exchanges another look with James and shows the hint of a smile. “You may tell Professor Patel that I am not available.”

James grins.

“I think I’ve had quite enough out-of-office adventures, recently,” Q can’t help but add.

M smiles his knowing, benign little smile that he’s so good at. “I merely thought that you might be curious about the motivation of your former professor.”

Q’s eyes flicker to the side and over the row of computers. “Everything I need to know about her, I have right here.”

“Fair enough.” The knowing smile becomes a bit more knowing. After all, the Quartermaster wouldn’t be much of a Quartermaster if the data about a person didn’t tell him more than a discussion that is mostly made up of lies and manipulations, anyway.

Q decides to just go about his usual business. “With the information we have, I recommend sending 004 to Cuba, before Patel’s associates there can close up shop and disappear.”

M nods. “Do it. And send me the information.”

“Has already been done, sir.”

M’s lips twitch again. “And you expect more situations to appear that require an intervention by an agent?”

Q smirks. “Only if we can’t dismantle them from here.”

James huffs a laugh.

Q tilts his head. “I’m sure you’ll be able to pull a trigger, again, soon, 007,” he says in reply to the laugh, drily, then turns to M. “Will that be all, sir?”

M simply nods. “Keep up the good work.” He turns and walks out with a short look at James. 

James remains.

“Yes? Was there anything else?” Q wants to know.

James reads Q for a few moments, as if weighing his options. Then, with three long strides, he walks up to him, frames his face with both hands and kisses him.

Q instinctively returns it, and once the realisation sinks in that they most probably shouldn’t be doing this in the middle of his own department and surrounded by most of his staff, he’s already enjoying himself too much and decides to bite James’ head off, afterwards.

James only slowly ends the kiss, remaining close with his lips hovering over Q’s.

“Are you out of your bloody mind?” Q demands to know, though the words contain a lot more sting than the tone of his voice, and his hands are still clutching James’ jacket. He can’t even hold back a small grin, dammit.

“Everybody in here already knew, anyway.”

Q can only just resists the urge to look around. But, really, who is he kidding? “Point taken. But there is a certain conduct…”

Naturally, James is reacting exactly as Q expects him to and kisses him, again.

Q chuckles into the kiss.

When the kiss ends, James lowers his hands from Q’s face to cup his neck. “Let me take you for a bite to eat.” Before Q can protest, he continues. “Given the work your team is doing, right now, I’ll be off, again, before long, and you and I both know that you’re not going to get the good night’s sleep you ought to get, so let me do this, at least.”

Q wants to argue that point, but, eventually, his shoulders sag and he releases the breath he doesn’t need to argue, after all. He knows James is right.  
“Alright.”

“As you keep reminding me, your team is the best. So, I’m sure they’ll be able to manage…”

Q doesn’t take his eyes off James. “Miss Keller. I assume you’ll be able to keep the department going for two hours?”

“Three,” James interrupts.

Q narrows his eyes at him but grins again. “Fine. _Three_ hours.”

To her credit, Keller manages to keep her voice even. “Of course, sir.”

Q would currently rather not look at his team, so he doesn’t as he grabs his bag (containing a laptop, just in case) and his jacket, and he just _knows_ that James is smirking at all and sundry around him, the bastard.

James leads Q out of the room with a hand on the small of his back and leans in. “I also would like to discuss a thing or two with you…”

“If you insist.”

 

Given the kissing and the heated looks, Q is somewhat surprised that James is actually taking him out to dinner (to a very nice restaurant that is not to James’ usual standards; it’s more comfortable, personal) and didn’t just drag him into the next broom closet.

He doesn’t press ahead with whatever matter he wanted to _’discuss’_. They’re nearly finished with their meal when Q decides that he’d rather get it off their chests.

“So, let me guess,” he starts, and James perks up. “You didn’t like me being dragged into the interrogation of Dubois.”

James doesn’t look surprised. “No,” he admits freely. “Not because I think you couldn’t do it.” He pauses and tilts his head. “Though you _were_ doing most of the talking…”

“But he didn’t _know_ anything!” Q protests, immediately.

James smiles benignly. “I know,” he agrees. “You do sometimes think best aloud, and you did find out what he didn’t tell you, just by doing that, but…” He sighs, as if he isn’t sure if he would anger Q with what he was planning on saying.

“But there was no need to drag me into it. Watching the interrogation would have been enough.”

James releases his breath. “Yes.”

“Just like being a voice in one of my agents’ ear and helping with the hack might have been enough on the mission in Ecuador.”

James studies him. “In retrospect, I liked having you on that one, actually…”

Q laughs a bit. “It did go rather well, didn’t it? And the holiday to follow was quite nice.”

James grins back.

“And the experience was useful to me, I guess.”

James nods.

“It’s also good to know that, if it comes down to it, I can actually hold up my own against armed assailants.”

James has to agree, again, though there is something uncomfortable in his expression. He doesn’t voice it, however and lets Q continue at his own pace.

Q licks his lips and blinks a few times. “It occurs to me…” he begins, slowly, licks his lips, again and sighs, “… that perhaps our… association… has prompted me to…” He huffs, frustrated and rubs a hand over his mouth before continuing. “Has prompted me to engage more in your type of work, because the immediacy of the actions simulates a feeling of accomplishment that made me inclined to believe that I was doing more to help you,” he rushes out in one single breath.

“Q…”

“No, let me finish.” He swallows. “Please.”

James just takes one of Q’s hands in his.

“And I kept being told that I did a good job on all fronts.” His lips twitch. “It’s not like I’m immune to flattery…” He raises an eyebrow, making James smirk. “But while I might actually not be half-bad at all that… it’s not what makes me most useful to you. It’s not where I’m exceptional, where I can give everything I am.” He clears his throat. “So. Unless absolutely necessary, I’ll stick to my branch.” He smiles a bit. “I believe that is what you wanted to talk to me about?”

James lifts Q’s hand and kisses the knuckles, then looks Q straight in the eyes. “You were perfect in Ecuador; your actions were outstanding when you were being attacked,” he pauses and smiles, ruefully, “… and clearly you don’t even have to interrogate people. You react to what they want to say before they say it.”

Q snickers.

James turns Q’s hand and presses his lips into the palm before laying it against his cheek. “Thank you,” he whispers.

Q just smiles. “I want you safe, and you want me safe. Let’s just do our jobs that we both love and make sure of that, shall we?”

“We shall,” James says, laying their joint hands on the table and entwining their fingers, before waving over a waiter for the bill.

“Though I wouldn’t be opposed to another holiday at some point…”

James grins. “To refresh the tan lines?”

Q laughs.

 

When they’re back at HQ, James briefly disappears and lets Q fold out his couch while he waits.

Q takes off his cardigan and tie and sits on the edge, his head in his hands. He’s so bloody tired that he’ll probably just fall asleep if James doesn’t return really quickly.

James walks into the room and closes the door, smiling at the picture Q makes.

“There you are…” Q says, smiling softly.

James takes off his jacket, tie, shirt and trousers and sits next to Q, who looks amused at how James apparently doesn’t want to lose time. Then he’s kissing him.  
“I paid your underlings a visit.”

Q blinks. “What?”

“They’ve got everything in hand, so you can catch a few hours of sleep. They’ll come and get us when we’re needed.”

Q hasn’t expected that. “James…”

“You’re about to keel over, and, frankly, so am I.”

Q snorts.

James grins at him. “Come on, lie down.”

Q sees no reason to protest, puts his glasses onto the cabinet next to the couch and shimmies out of his trousers before slipping in under the blanket next to James.  
“You don’t need to baby me, you know,” he still feels compelled to point out and shifts backwards into James’ arms.

James pulls him closer and kisses the nape of his neck. “I’m not. I just prefer it when you and your deadly computers are in top shape when I need them.”

Q hums. He’s much too comfortable and warm to contest that statement. And then he’s too asleep to feel the kisses James presses into his hair and the hands holding him gently until James follows him.

 

They’re only woken nearly five hours later. Which is a good thing, seeing as they won’t be sleeping much for a while, what with James chasing leads into the field, and Q being on his trail with his wires.

Right where they belong.

 


	8. Amazing

M stares at the screens in Q Branch where they can all see Bond running from a site going up in flames, the angles alternating between CCTV and satellite images, and he is rapidly moving on from incredulity to amusement. Still…  
“Q? What was that?” He has to be sure, doesn’t he?

Beside him, Eve stands with a hand over her mouth and mirth in her eyes, while Tanner turns away and clears his throat, trying to keep his attention on the readings of the satellite on one of the smaller screens.

Q smirks at the main screens and follows Bond’s movements with the cameras obeying the orders coming from the tips of his fingers.

Eve takes the hand off her mouth. “It appears to have been an exploding pen, sir.”

Once Bond is in the car and racing off the site, Q turns to face M.  
“It’s a prototype. Bond is trial testing it.” His lip twitches. “Successfully it would seem.”

M raises an eyebrow. “Should I expect to see more of them in active use?”

“I believe that it is best to decide on a case-to-case basis, depending on expected mission parameters.” He tilts his head. “I would also suggest that agents be issued with one if the mission is expected to last longer than average and its progression is particularly hard to predict. Or…” he raises his voice a bit, “… if the agent in question tends to regularly stray from the predicted course of action.”

“I heard that,” comes Bond’s voice through the speakers.

“Good,” Q answers. “You were meant to.”

“Such tender care, Quartermaster.”

Q hopes to god he’s not blushing. If he is, Bond will pay for it. Just to make sure, he faces the screens, again.  
“Should you really be teasing the man handling your explosives, 007?”

“I’ll be forgiven for the teasing the moment I return all my equipment undamaged...” Bond replies, sounding unworried.

Q huffs. “I’ll believe that when I see it.” He crosses his arms. “Focus on your driving. I’ll be here when you need me.” With that, he closes the microphone and mutes the speakers, only keeping the sounds of Bond’s car and breathing in his ear piece.  
He faces one of his techs on the side. “Is there a reliable reading of the explosion, by now?”

“Yes, sir. We should have the analysis of the data within the next two or three hours and can start with the adjustments for the next batch...” her voice rises at the end of the sentence and she peeks at M who grins slowly.

M raises an eyebrow at Q. “Did you use that mission to have me appraise your pet project?”

Q just shrugs, unapologetically. “I prefer to kill two birds with one stone whenever possible. I dislike wasting time.”

“I assume you’ve cleared it with accounting.”

“Of course, sir.”

M nods. “Carry on.” With that, he leaves with Tanner in tow (who has seen the inquisitive expression on Eve’s face and would rather not hear something he is better off just knowing but not hearing in detail).

Eve, however, remains and steps closer. “Lunch?”

Q hesitates, checks his watch and realises that he doesn’t have much of an excuse this well into the afternoon. “Yes, alright.”

Eve smirks at him. “You can take the voice in your ear and your laptop. We’re not even leaving the building.”

Q gave her a look. “I wouldn’t have agreed, otherwise.”

Her smirk remains firmly (and knowingly) in place, and she turns halfway to sign him to follow her. He does.

 

“So,” Eve says, decisively between two bites of (late) lunch. “How’s it been going?”

Q sighs, demonstratively chewing and swallowing slowly before he answers. “I should have known your invitation to lunch wasn’t entirely altruistic.” He’s mostly teasing. Of course he’s known that, sooner or later, he’d have to talk to someone, and… well… the prospect isn’t unwelcome, either.

“You owe me heart-warming details.”

Q snickers.

“Seriously, though…” she pauses and her teasing expression softens. “I really didn’t think it was possible, anymore. Not for him.”

Q’s fork freezes on the way to his mouth, and he puts it down again, suddenly way too focused on breathing.

“I mean, he’s Bond, right?” She grins a bit. The name alone is holding so many connotations that Q would understand. “He can charm the socks, underwear _and_ weapon off anyone before they even know what’s happening, but… you’ve read his file…” She releases her breath once she realises that she doesn’t have the words to continue. She just looks at Q.

Q resolutely continues eating.

“You don’t have to tell me more about what is going on between you two. Some of it is clear enough just by looking at you.” Her lip twitches. “But I’m curious… Did you have any idea that it was a possibility, going in?” She frowns a bit. Clearly, that is something she’s thought about, having taken that one step herself (and obviously not seeing anything beyond that one _’close shave’_ ).

“I went in with the same objective as you,” he said, raising his eyebrows at her.

Eve silently wonders about what had to have been so glaringly different, since they both went in with nothing but a good tumble in mind, and is about to voice that thought when it answers itself. She sighs and smiles, ruefully. “And he already trusted you.”

Q visibly startles and openly stares at her. Apparently, that hasn’t occurred to him…

“Can’t come as that much of a surprise, can it?” She smiles, somewhat curiously. “He would _not_ be with someone he doesn’t trust, not for this long, however… serious it is. It’s a miracle he let you as close as he has.”  
Not that she’s entirely certain how _close_ Bond and Q’s connection is, but any connection that goes beyond that of a one-night-stand on a mission is closer than she thought Bond capable, anymore. If they were any other two people, the same signals they send out would mean nothing short of being head over heels in love. But since they are who they are, both of them very much lethal with a deeply ingrained distrust…

Q shakes himself, still appearing flustered. “No, of course not. And he can. Trust me, that is. Obviously.”

Eve lets them both turn that over in their heads and returns to her food. It’s that immediate and unwavering trust between Bond and Q that’s surprising, not whatever… _tender_ feelings they may have built on it.  
Eventually, she remarks, “I didn’t really know what to make of the rumours once they…” she looks up from beneath her lashes, smirking, “… became more substantiated.”

Q rolls his eyes. “And when was that?”

“Your holiday.”

Q snorts. “We’d been shagging for months before that.” For some reason, that miscalculation makes him feel more secure. Like he has the upper hand.

Eve is undeterred. “You know what made it more substantiated?”

Q shrugs, unconcerned. “That he took me on a two week holiday…?” he repeats the fact she’s already stated.

“That certainly helped,” she agrees, but the underlying tone of her voice makes Q’s hackles rise. (Perhaps not quite the upper hand, then.) “But it was the mission report, actually.”

Q blinks. “The report? Why? It all went by the book.”

Eve nods. “Everything went by the book, you did everything right, nothing went wrong… and yet his report protested quite clearly at the notion that there ever be another mission with a, quote, _’invaluable department head in the field’_ , unquote.”

Q swallows a mouthful of pasta. “I _am_ more valuable in the lab.”

Eve smirks and points her fork at him. “And _now_ you add the holiday to your equation.”

Q can’t hold back the smile that breaks free. He knows all that. He knows he’s important on a professional and a personal level. That’s nothing truly new; just new enough to send tiny tingles of happiness through him.

She studies him quietly for a moment. “If I hadn’t seen him react in much the same way...” She sighs and shakes her head.

“What?”

“I would have thought this whole thing to be an extraordinarily bad idea. Of course...” she quickly adds, “... it might still turn out to be just that, but...” She trails off, again.

Q puts down his fork. “Could you perhaps finish a sentence, just once?”

Eve holds up both her hands, as if visually denying any responsibility. “Seeing you two makes me happy, and I’m cautiously optimistic, is what I’m trying to say.”

Q blinks. “Thank you. I guess.”

“I like both of you, and I’m wishing you all the best.”

Q feels like there is something missing. “But?”

Eve smirks. “But if you ever need me to shoot him a little, just let me know.”

Q bursts out laughing. “I’ll do that.”

“So...” she sips her water. “You owe me juicy details.”

“If memory serves, I never actually said that you would get any.”

She props her elbows on the table, glass in her hands. “But you’re dying to talk to someone, aren’t you?”

His eyes glint. “Perhaps.” She’s right, of course. Q is introverted enough, and keeping secrets comes as easily to him as breathing, but he’s always had a friend in Eve, and ever since he’s come to terms with what his relationship with James turned out to be, he’s been craving a patient ear. Someone who knows of the potential gravity of their situation but doesn’t dwell on it; someone who knows the angles of Q and Bond _and_ their respective jobs.  
Someone like Eve.

She raises her eyebrows, well aware that she’s won already. “Just how it started,” she nudges him, verbally. “Go on, my evasive little boffin.”

Q playfully clears his throat. “There may or may not have been an incident where neither Bond nor I turned off our communicators when he got... _busy_.” The tone of his voice makes the meaning behind _’busy’_ quite clear, not that Eve needed the clarification.

Eve stares at him, wide-eyed and with a huge grin. “You cheeky fucker,” she breathes out, astonished. “You’re as bad as he is!”

“He made some insinuations at the time, and – despite my numerous reservations – I felt that he should deliver once he’s back.”

“And he did?” Eve is still grinning.

“I do hope that question was rhetorical.”

Eve laughs, delighted.

 

They chat for another half hour before Q’s hand suddenly darts to his ear, “Here, James,” and their lunch break is officially over. (Though not before they agree on their next get-together.)

Eve even gives into the urge to hug Q. “You two take care of yourselves, okay?”

“Of course.” Q returns the hug, briefly.

Eve steps back, frowning playfully. “Look at that. You’re making me all mushy.”

Q smirks. “Don’t worry. I know you’re badass, after all.” He tilts his head to the side. “Shut up, James.”

Eve straightens and turns to go. “Remember; call me when he needs shooting at,” she says loudly enough that Q’s ear piece would carry the words to the annoyingly lovable dick of an agent at the other end.

Before finally meeting Bond, Eve had always been wondering about the (in)famous 007. Had been wondering why everyone seemed to have a soft spot for the man, despite his ruthlessness, his complete disregard of rules and disrespect for people and equipment. M (both of them, by now) would let him get away with more things than appeared sensible; Q branch would get frustrated with him but still be charmed by Bond’s passionate usage of weapons (however short-lived that usage usually turned out to be); other field agents after a short period of knowing him would waver between grudging respect, amusement and the urge to kick his insufferable arse.  
She had wondered about that and had thought it mainly exaggeration, only to be charmed as much as everyone else when the time had come.

But despite Bond’s apparent inescapability, his reaching out with his hand of his own free will and then having it actually be taken a hold of has to be the most surprising thing Eve Moneypenny has learned about him.

 

Eve returns to Q branch later that day – much later – and finds it mostly empty. Q is still there, of course (as is one of his technicians, who is quietly typing in a corner), sitting in his chair with his legs stretched out in front of him.

She remains standing in the door for a long moment, watching Q quietly conversing with his own, personal agent, both of them clearly off the clock, as it were. She can’t hear Bond’s voice, and Q’s is mostly just murmurs and soft laughs, his expression as warm and mellow as his voice.

When the technician notices her standing there, Eve steps towards Q with the forms in her hand.

Q looks up when she approaches, his expression unchanging and open.

Eve returns the smile and puts the request forms on his desk, tapping them with a finger.

Q pulls a face at the sight of them, but he’s too relaxed to really be bothered, and the smile quickly returns. _’Tomorrow,’_ he mouths.

Eve huffs a silent laugh and waves a hand in dismissal. _’Fine.’_

He wiggles his fingers at her, waving her goodbye when she leaves, and then returns to his conversation.

She grins at the “Eve just brought some request forms. They’re probably your fault…” she can hear behind her, briefly glances at the technician who seems unaffected by both the conversation his boss is having and her presence, and then she leaves the night owls to their thing.

*

Two weeks later, Q slowly wakes in his bed (after _finally_ having been allowed to go home, again) from a kissing dream into a wake one.

“Good morning,” James murmurs against Q’s lips.

“Is it?” Q is still only half awake and tilts his head to melt into another kiss.

“Mhm.”

Q answers in a wordless hum that moves from the depths of his chest, trickles along his tongue and is being drunk by James to the last drop. Lazy morning and James. Warm, _naked_ James. Q’s hands seek out the firm skin of their own volition in his still dream-like state.

James cradles Q close and moves over him just enough so that the weight of his body adds to the deep kiss. He gives Q’s upper lip a nip. “You’re affectionate this morning,” he says, barely audibly and interrupted by another nip.

Q is slowly but surely waking up and gently bites James’ lip, making him grin.  
“I have reason to be.”

“Oh?”

“Mh,” Q confirms with another hum into a kiss. “You actually brought back all of my equipment, unless you managed to lose something on the way back from Burma _after_ your mission.”

James licks over Q’s lips and kisses him again. “Brought you back all of it,” he confirms and wanders to lick and nip over Q’s jaw and then to the neck. “I believe I’ve earned the privilege to be especially nice to you…”

Q moans at a deliciously sharp bite at the base of his neck, his hands hold James close – one on his head, the other cradling the back of his neck – and he arches into the ministrations of that stupidly talented mouth.  
“You already have me,” he manages to say. “You don’t have to earn any privileges.”

One of James’ hands come up to cup Q’s jaw and cheek, his thumb gently running over the stubbly skin, his touches saying what really no longer needs words. When he latches onto a nipple and bites and suckles, Q’s breath hitches and he whimpers. James gives it a parting lick.  
“Did M like the performance of the pen?”  
He moves on to the other nipple.

Q breathes deeply and laughs at the words and the pleasure running through him. “Oh, yes. We’ve expanded the production.” He gasps. “Did some variations. Improvements. Different…ah… applications.”

James kisses downwards over Q’s firm stomach, murmuring between kisses. “You… absolutely glorious… human being.”

Q huffed a laugh, his stomach jumping under James’ kisses. “Oh, I know.” He grins widely, his hands in James’ hair. “I’m the best boyfriend ever. Making you exploding pens. And lock picking ones, by the way… or with acid for… particularly, uhm, resistant locks…”

James grins and nudges Q’s cock with his nose, before kissing it lightly, nuzzling it, playfully. “Bloody amazing, you are.” He licks a broad stripe up Q’s rapidly hardening cock.

“And one even with narcotics… as… uh… to inject…” He stops, licks his lips and closes his eyes, breathing out.

James briefly sucks at the tip. “Something stronger perhaps? Maybe poison?”

Q grins, unseen. “Stop talking about poison while you’re blowing me.”

James says nothing else, just holds the base of Q’s cock and sucks it in as far as it will go without him choking on it (he can take it deep, but he still hasn’t quite mastered taking it all the way – then again, there is time, and he _is_ tenacious).  
It’s interesting, though; he’s never been a particular fan of sucking cock, but he can’t seem to get enough of this one, Q’s mewling little sounds of pleasure adding to the feeling of the hard, heavy and silky soft prick to wrap his tongue around.

Q doesn’t talk anymore, at this point. His chest rises and falls, rapidly, and with every exhale, there is a soft whine or whimper. The grip of his hands in James’ hair becomes more urgent.  
When, finally, a tiny, desperate, “ _Oh_ ,” manages to escape, James lets off the cock, licking down to Q’s balls, making him sob, once.  
“James!”

James continues his ministration, never stopping for a second. He sucks one of the balls into his mouth and then the other one, rolling it on his tongue, his fingers dipping behind and teasing the twitching ring of muscles, before he spreads the cheeks with both hands, letting his tongue take over licking and laving and covering the tight hole in his spit.  
He loves Q like this. Just out of sleep, relaxed, pliant, with none of the preoccupation his mind keeps him busy with.  
He fucks into him with his tongue that is eventually joined by fingers.

One of Q’s legs falls open completely, while the other hooks over James’ shoulder.

“Lube?” James asks, biting into the wet flesh he’s murmuring into.

Q just whimper-moans and attempts to pull James closer again.

James chuckles and adds a third finger to appease his lover. “Come on, Q. I’ve been thinking about fucking you all the way home…”

“Could probably just…hnnggn” he rolls up his hips and pushes against the intruding fingers. “Could just do it…”

The bites soften into kisses. “I’m not fucking you without lube.”

Q whimpers again.

“Lube, Q, now.”

Q’s arm flails sideways more than anything, trying to reach the bedside drawer, which he finally does. The movement has cleared his head somewhat, and he throws the bottle in James’ general direction.

James smirks at him from between his legs and unscrews the top, dribbling some of the liquid onto his fingers.

“We _could_ try it, sometime, though…” Q remarks and then lets his head fall onto the pillow, again, throwing his arm over his face when James slides his three fingers back inside, much deeper than before and adds a fourth after only a second or two.

James kisses the inside of Q’s thigh. “Some other time. One when I’m not quite as desperate to fuck you.”

“Why don’t you just _do it_ , then?”

James chuckles, and since he doesn’t really have a reason to not do just that, he pulls out his fingers, slicks his cock with lube and moves up to cover Q’s writhing body.

Q startles at James’ immediate compliance, wraps his arms around him and laughs and moans through James pushing inside the very moment he is in position.  
“I fucking _love_ you!”

That is another reason for James to like Q not quite awake enough to reach his full mental capacity…  
He dives for a deep kiss, before he grins, breathing roughly against Q’s lips and starts to thrust, leisurely, in spite of the demands of his body.

“You know what I want to do afterwards, though?” Q manages to say somewhat casually, the urgency only speaking from his undulating and trembling body.

“And what’s that?”

“Really missed your cock…” He squeezes his arsehole, making James’ rhythm stutter and the man bite his lips in retaliation. “Want you to feed it to me, later.”

James’ thrusts sharpen and speed up, seemingly with a mind of their own. “Yeah?”

Q’s eyes are dark and intent. “Want you to sit me up against the headboard and fuck my mouth.”

“ _Shit_!”

Q reaches between their bodies to jerk himself. He’s so close, already, and with the right words, James won’t be far behind, his thrice-cursed self-control be damned.  
“You can come down my throat…” He does like that. “Or just shoot on my face.” James growls into his neck, so Q just grins and continues. “Want that. Want to see you come.”

“Fucking hell, Q!”

“Need you. Need you to come all over me. _Fuck_ me!”

“God _damn fuck_ ing _shit_!” James swears with the next three thrusts, filling Q with his come, just as the little bastard laughs all through his own orgasm that he’s squeezing out of his cock.

If Q hadn’t been riding a chemical wave of orgasm, he probably would have been embarrassed at the continued giggles that escape from his chest in between the rapid breathing.

Eventually, James answers the laughter. “You little shit. You’d better deliver, later.”

Q grins, licks James’ lips and kisses him. “I have every intention at my disposal to do just that,” he promises with an intense look in his eyes that makes James’ cock twitch despite just having screwed the brains out of his fuckable minx.

James just stares at him, incredulously. “Amazing,” is all he says, as if he can’t believe that whatever deity might or might not be out there has seen fit to bestow this gorgeous human being upon him.

Q’s expression softens, and he pulls James into a slow and deep kiss. He only breaks it when James’ cock slips out of him and pulls a face at the come he can feel trickle out in its wake.

James presses another kiss on Q’s lips, apologetically. Then he remembers something.  
“Were you serious about your… pen collection?”

Q licks his lips (his own, for a change) and clears his throat. “We were experimenting a bit. So, yes, I was serious, though it might not just be pens in the future.”

James grins wolfishly at him.

Q rolls his eyes but can’t help returning the grin.

“I thought you… _’don’t really go in for that, anymore’_?” James wants to know.

Q blinks a few times and licks his lips, again. “My wires reach far, but… perhaps not quite far enough, on occasion.” He offers James a meaningful look.

James slowly shakes his head (this time his expression shows more amazement than incredulity). It says a lot about their working relationship that Q can admit to him personally that one or two more hands-on approaches in the field might be necessary on top of Q branch’s very own web-elves.  
It also says a lot that James knows that…  
“… They reach further than I ever thought possible,” he completes the thought. A concession.

Q smiles. “Just making sure that your lot is well-equipped for the gaps in my net.”

“Amazing,” is all James can say about his lover.

Q’s smile widens. “Yes, we are.”

 

**End**

* * *

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it from this series :) Thank you so much for joining me on the ride! ♥
> 
> Please leave a little comment on your way out :)


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